


Sapphires and Steel

by Angstosaur



Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault hinted at, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cliffhangers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Romantic Fluff, castle storming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 147,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25200715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstosaur/pseuds/Angstosaur
Summary: Set in 1766 - Jamie Fraser has set up his printing shop in Edinburgh and John Grey has married Isobel Dunsany and is bringing up William Ransom, knowing him to be the son of Jamie.On a wet night in June, a stranger appears in the print shop with urgent news for Jamie that will cause him to pack up and set off on a dangerous mission to rescue his son from kidnappers. The ransom they demand takes the form of sapphires, including those of John Grey who accompanies Jamie on his quest.
Relationships: A little bit of Claire/Jamie, Claire Beauchamp & Jamie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Jamie Fraser & William Ransom, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey, Lord John Grey & Isobel Dunsany, Lord John Grey & William Ransom, Past Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 496
Kudos: 200
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note - I was not sure of the rating - started on Mature, then went to explicit due to descriptions of sex in some chapters, but I settled on Mature over all - it is not explicitly pornographic (well not to me). Just be aware that there are descriptions of sexual activity (mostly M/M) in some

Jamie was so busy realigning the small metal blocks in the print frame he barely took notice of the tinkle of the bell over the front door of his shop. He yelled out –

“Is that you, Ian?”

It was only when there was no answer that he turned around and looked up to see a stranger, not his nephew. The man was swathed in a long black cloak, which was so soaked with rainwater that it clung to his form. There were mud splatters on the hem, an indication of someone who had been riding fast. The man wore dark leather gloves and his stance caused him to bear a chilling resemblance to images he had seen in print that portrayed the Grim Reaper.

Jamie set aside the spectacles he wore for close work, wanting to get a look at the stranger’s face – almost fearing he would spy a grinning skull. The tricorn hat was tipped low, dripping water in a steady trickle onto the cloak, although it obscured the man’s eyes he could see several days’ of beard growth suggesting someone who normally shaved, but had not had the opportunity to do so for nigh on a week. A traveller then – and one in a hurry. Therefore, not a customer and probably not someone whose intentions were benevolent. Jamie ran the tip of his tongue over his lips and readied himself to respond to whatever ill tidings the visitor brought with them.

It was only as the man addressed him by name– his real name – in a crisp English accent, that he recognised who it was.

“Thank God I have found you. Jamie-”

At the moment Jamie let go of the breath he had been holding, he took it in once more sharply as Lord John Grey collapsed in a dead faint.

Rushing to the side of the friend he had not seen for a long while, Jamie crouched down to check on his condition and was shocked by the state of John Grey. His face was gaunt beneath the facial hair and his hair loose upon his shoulders. There were dark circles under the closed eyes, speaking of days without sleep. His heart raced at the possible cause of John’s journey – it could only be bad news. If the nature of some of his printing jobs had been discovered he knew there was a strong likelihood he would find himself behind bars once more.

Reaching to John’s neck to check for a pulse, Jamie was surprised to find his throat exposed, no neatly tied stock about his neck. If he did not know that voice as well as he did, he would never have known it was John Grey. In all the time he had known the man, he had never seen him so dishevelled, so poorly attired – he thought briefly of what Tom Byrd would have thought and considered that he, too, would have passed out.

The doorbell rang once more, and Ian entered.

“Uncle Jamie – I have, oh my God, what have ye done?” Ian stared at the body on the floor and automatically thought his uncle had killed someone.

“I’ve no’ done a thing, he just fell where he stood!” Jamie defended himself. He wondered if there would ever be a time when his family did not jump to the conclusion that he would strike first and ask questions later. “Fetch some water, will ye? And some whisky as well for his Lordship – I think he’s going to need it.”

After Ian had darted off to the rear of the shop, where Jamie stored items to provide refreshments to some of his customers, John started to come around. Blinking furiously as the light from the overhead lanterns dazzled his eyes, he found himself unable to move, pinned to the floorboards by the unswerving glare of Jamie Fraser.

“I thought we agreed no more visits would be needed?” asked Jamie, attempting to keep his concerns concealed – not until he knew the purpose of John’s unexpected visit. “Or were ye passing through on yer way to Aberdeen and dropped in fer a game o’ chess?”

Although Jamie had doubted John Grey’s real motives in stopping by several months ago, allegedly on his way to Aberdeen, he had discovered that John did have relatives living in the town to the north and east of Edinburgh. John had told him of his time there as a young boy of twelve, after the tragic death of his father. But on that occasion, he had been travelling with a valet and in his best finery – Jamie very much doubted that this journey had anything to do with paying courtesy calls.

“Alas, this is not a social call,” responded John, looking grim. “I come with a warning and a request.”

Immediately John spoke the word ‘warning’, Jamie felt his hackles rise. He wondered if it was the printing of seditious material or his trade in smuggled brandy that had been found out and that his erstwhile gaoler was threatening to have him incarcerated once more. Jamie was disappointed, he had genuinely thought they had got past that stage in their relationship – whatever the nature of the warning, the fact that John had the nerve to issue one left him feeling betrayed and angry. His concerns for the physical state of the man at his feet fled as he looked around his print shop and wondered if he was about to lose everything all over again.

“Ye cannae threaten me-” Jamie growled deep in his throat as he looked once more at John Grey.

“Not me!” John shook his head in frustration. He pushed himself up, partly off the floor, propping himself up on his elbows so he could look Jamie in the eye. “Lord Dunsany. He has issued a warrant for your arrest.”

“On what charge?”

Hearing the creak of the floorboards behind him, Jamie turned his head to see his nephew who was hovering in the doorway, holding a tray with glasses, a pitcher and a bottle of whisky. He had obviously overheard enough to know that Jamie was in some kind of trouble. With a sidelong look and a slight inclination of his head, Jamie signalled for Ian to put down the tray and return to the back room urgently. He knew that Ian would take the hint and hide the latest batches of subversive pamphlets.

Turning his attention back to John, Jamie raised his eyebrows prompting the man to answer his question.

“Kidnapping,” stated John, closing his eyes as he knew precisely what Jamie Fraser’s reaction would be.

“Kidnap?” exclaimed Jamie in disbelief. He had half expected to be in trouble for the literature he had been printing, or the smuggling, but he had never considered that he would be charged for a crime he had not committed. “And just who the hell am I meant to have kidnapped?”

John took a deep breath, wishing that he was on his feet and not half prostrate at the mercy of a man whose temper he knew too well.

“Lord Dunsany’s grandson and heir. William – he was taken from Isobel and his nanny five days ago.”

“What?” erupted Jamie, furiously narrowing his eyes at John. “Willie’s been kidnapped?”

All John could do was nod his head and hope that it remained on his shoulders long enough to allow him explain both the circumstances and the urgency of his mission.

“Where the hell were ye at the time?” Jamie leaned in and curled his fists into the sodden wool of the cloak. “Ye were meant to take care o’ the lad. I should kill ye now and be done fer a crime I have committed-”

Before John could respond, he found himself dragged to his feet, shoved against a very solid bookcase and then hauled up, scraping his back on the hard shelves until his feet left the ground. Gritting his teeth against the pain, John acknowledged to himself that he had not underestimated the ferocity of Jamie Fraser’s reaction.

“I left him in yer care,” came Jamie’s words, quiet enough that they would not be overheard, but no less vehement. “Ye swore to look after him as if he were yer own. I swear if any harm has come to his head, one hundred-fold will fall upon yours!”

With barely room for a sheet of paper to pass between their faces, John could feel the warmth of Jamie’s breath, despite the cold hatred dripping from every word. John knew he had to break free before his neck was snapped – not just for his own sake, but for the sake of rescuing an innocent child. He was furious with himself for having passed out on arrival – his weakness had prevented him from presenting Jamie with all the facts and if he failed he would be condemning the boy he called his son. Catching Jamie off-guard, he moved fast, grabbing hold of Jamie’s hands, digging his fingernails into the skin and wrenching them free of his cloak. The brief loss of connection was enough to allow him to fall free, stumbling slightly as he struggled to keep on his feet.

“How dare you think you have a monopoly on caring for him!” John snarled, a surge of adrenaline firing his righteous anger. “I have brought him up as if he were my own son – I love that boy more than life itself!”

Unfortunately for John, this declaration only served to infuriate Jamie even further – he was incensed that ‘Lord John bloody Grey’ could claim to love _his_ son. He was not sure what angered him most – that John had the opportunity to give the boy the love that he himself was unable to provide or the notion that the only reason Grey loved the boy was because he _was_ Jamie’s son.

“I trusted him with ye!” Jamie spat in John’s face, pressing him backwards and looming over him once more. “I shouldha taken him away from there – taken him to my sister’s!”

“Really?” John could not help but roll his eyes. “Well sir, that is exactly what the Dunsanys have assumed and that is why there is a patrol heading there even now.”

“What the hell?” Jamie could not have believed he could be even angrier with John Grey, but he was. “Did ye tell them about my family? Christ, John – “

Speechless with fury, Jamie took hold of John by his shoulders and slammed his head against the bookcase, scattering various volumes off their shelves and onto the floor.

“So – not only has my son been kidnapped and his grandfather put a price on my head, but he’s also sent law enforcers after my kin? And what have ye done to put a stop any o’ this?”

Not waiting for a response, Jamie wrapped a hand around John’s throat and began to squeeze as if he could force an explanation for such a betrayal of trust from the throat of the man he had once thought of as his friend.

“If any harm has come to any of them because of you,” Jamie shook his head as he considered the threat he was about to make. “I swear I really shall kill ye this time.”

As black spots began to appear at the edge of his field of vision, John could barely get a word out as the constriction around his throat became harder to bear.

“I did not betray you. I never would!” gasped John. Struggling to free himself and finding his attempts to prise Jamie’s hands from his throat unsuccessful, John resorted to kneeing him in the groin, hard enough to have him relax his grip so that he could move out of harm’s way.

Taking advantage of Jamie’s momentary distraction, John grabbed hold of a sturdy wooden stool and held it in front of him, thinking that he could use it to swing at the angry Scot if need be. If nothing else it gave him some physical distance.

“I did not tell them!” declared John as soon as he caught his breath. “For your information, sir, they already knew about your sister. You knew this - Geneva found out – that is what she blackmailed you with wasn’t it? I know - Isobel told me that Geneva had intercepted letters between you and your family.”

“She did indeed - damn spoilt wench,” muttered Jamie, almost feeling bad for being disrespectful to his son’s mother.

Wincing with pain that only a sharp knee to the softest parts of a man’s body could inflict, Jamie took stock of the situation. His son had been kidnapped. He was being accused of the crime and, by default, his family at Lallybroch had been implicated. He glanced across at John, seeing that he was also in pain – and not just physical from the look of anguish in his eyes.

“Ah weel – they’ll no’ find the boy there, no matter how hard they search,” admitted Jamie with a shrug. “I dinna have the lad and neither do they.”

“I know,” came the quiet reply from John. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Jamie nodded his head in acknowledgement of John’s statement. It would appear that his friend had indeed been trying to give him advance notice and not threaten him directly. Although Jamie knew that his family were innocent of kidnap, there could be evidence found of other ‘transgressions’ of the law that may be found at Broch Tuarach. He wanted to make sure that Jenny was forewarned.

“How long do they have to prepare? For a visit from His Majesty’s finest?” asked Jamie, surreptitiously rearranging his testicles from where the force of John’s knee had displaced them. He cursed the tight breeches and wished, not for the first time, to be wearing his kilt.

“Despite his Lordship’s protestations, the men sent to pursue you were not the finest a regiment could muster,” replied John, not choosing to explain that he had personally selected the men, knowing them to be reluctant soldiers who would dally on their journey north. “I suspect they are probably two days behind me – at least.”

“Good.” Taking a dep breath, Jamie turned on his heel and headed for the back room to tell Ian what he needed to do. “I’ll send Ian to warn them.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pushing open the door to the backroom, Jamie was not surprised to find Ian quickly settling on the camp bed as if he had been there all along and not listening at the door.

“Ye’ve not heard a word of any ‘discussion’ between his lordship and me, understood?” Jamie whispered, accepting a sharp nod of the head as a promise.

“I need ye to head home to yer parents and tell them to expect company, but no’ to worry.” Jamie reassured the lad, he had inferred from John that the soldiers were not the most diligent of men. “Travel with the wagon in the morning. Jenny and yer father have nothing tae hide, but they may wish tae make sure there’s no’ too many barrels o’ brandy to be found, if ye ken my meaning. And when ye get there, stay put. Should anyone ask, ye’ve no’ seen me since I left Lallybroch – make sure Laoghaire keeps her mouth shut too, if she wants to keep receiving money from me. ”

Ian nodded, understanding precisely what his instructions were. However, he was dumbfounded at how upset his uncle had been at the fate of some aristocratic English child. He thought of asking what the boy meant to Jamie Fraser, but from what he had overheard, he thought better of it. He decided that if anyone was going to have the shit kicked out of him, better the English Lord than himself.

“Aye, uncle Jamie – I’ll go to check on that delivery now, then, make sure it’s ready fer the morning.”

“Ye do that – then stay here overnight, no taverns this evening fer ye – and no wenches,” Jamie winked at Ian, making it clear that he knew exactly what his nephew got up to in Edinburgh that his mother would never approve of. “Make sure ye lock the door.”

“Will ye no’ be here?” asked Ian, willing the blush of embarrassment to recede.

“It’s best ye don’t ken where I am.” Jamie shook his head and ruffled the unruly locks of hair on his nephew’s head. He was not sure when he would see the lad next. What he did know was that once he had got what he needed from John Grey, he was not looking back until he had found his son and the bastards who had taken him. “Lock up the shop when ye leave. I may be gone a while.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wondering what was being discussed in the other room, John started pacing to and fro. He was anxious to be moving again – he did not want to be delayed any more than was necessary. In the meantime, he could at least be prepared for Jamie’s temper should it flare up again as soon as he had sent his nephew on his way.

Helping himself to a glass of whisky, after all he doubted if he would be offered one by his host, John looked around the room for something with which to defend himself - without having to resort to the sword, pistol or dagger he was armed with. Although cataloguing potential weapons just alerted him to the fact that they could equally well be used against him – not that anything could do much more damage as those fists of Jamie Fraser. 

Taking another draft of the fine whisky, letting the warmth soothe his abused throat, John also found himself contemplating the complex relationship that he and Jamie shared with young William Ransom. He sighed and considered the dilemma he was placed in – what it would cost him to admit to Jamie that his love of the boy derived as much from knowing who his father was as the fact that he genuinely adored the boy.

John’s thoughts were interrupted as Jamie and the younger man came back into the front of the shop. As soon as Ian had left through the front door, Jamie approached John stealthily like a wolf stalking a deer, sure-footed, his eyes fixed on his prey.

“I need ye to give me one good reason why I shouldna kill ye where ye stand and then go find my son,” stated Jamie, sounding more rational, as if he was calming asking John if he thought it might continue raining until morning.

John shook his head with confusion. On arrival to the city, he was already bone weary and exhausted from his journey north. The last thing he had hoped for was to be tossed around like a ragdoll by Jamie as soon as he found him. Sighing with despondency he looked into Jamie’s eyes, seeing the rage still simmering away beneath the apparently calm exterior.

“Because I had very much hoped that you would accompany me to save your bloody son-”

“So now he’s my son is he?” retorted Jamie, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes dammit – he’s yours,” replied John, tears prickling his eyes, as the whisky brought his emotions into play. “Even though he has called me papa for the past two years.”

Jamie advanced on John but, held back his anger, resisting the urge to punch him for the painful taunt. He had to know the facts and he realised, somewhat belatedly, that they were not going to be forthcoming if he let his rage consume him – as it had before.

“So – where the fuck were ye then?” Jamie asked, in exasperation. “When this happened. Ye never answered the bloody question-"

“Oh, please do accept my most abject apologies for not responding,” stated John, sarcastically as he waved the half empty whisky glass in front of him. “But I was having difficulty drawing breath with your hands wrapped around my throat-“

“Where were ye?” persisted Jamie, his eyes narrowing as he observed that John had helped himself to a drink, without being offered, the very height of insolence.

Quelling a petty urge to snatch the glass away from John, Jamie just grunted. He needed to know why John Grey had not prevented the kidnapping of his son – because that mattered. He had put all his trust in this man back at Helwater, had even offered him his body to safeguard that which was most precious to him. Feeling the red mist start to rise again, Jamie bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, suppressing the rage that would stand in his way of finding his son.

Realising that he was not going to be subjected to more violence, at least for the short term, John slumped down on the floor, resting his back against the bookcase. He felt as if all of the energy had drained from his body.

“I had been called away to London,” explained John, reliving the dreadful events yet again in his head. He had rehearsed so many times how he would tell Jamie what had happened, and it had still gone disastrously wrong. “Thanks to my brother, I have been reinstated as a commissioned officer and as such I cannot renege on my duties-”

John paused, swallowed hard and then laughed out loud. Not with humour, but with rancour. Wiping his face with his sleeve, John closed his eyes and shook his head before continuing.

“Except that by coming here directly and not returning to London as commanded, I have and will probably face a court martial when they finally catch up with me.”

Hearing the circumstances under which John had travelled to see him made Jamie reappraise his reactions. He poured himself a large measure of whisky and crouched down opposite John, sitting back on his heels, as he wondered what the hell was going on. The fact that John had apparently deserted his post went a long way to explain the way he was dressed and his attempt at disguise.

“What’s going on, John?” Jamie asked, keeping his voice level. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Four days ago, upon my return to Helwater from London, the house was in uproar. Not getting any answer from the staff, and being told that Lord and Lady Dunsany would not speak to anyone, I eventually found Isobel in our room, she was sobbing uncontrollably – all I got from her was that William had been abducted and the note left behind.”

“Where did this happen – surely not on the estate?” asked Jamie, unable to work out how anyone could have taken Willie, he was always surrounded by family or by staff on the estate.

John gazed at his hands as he cradled the empty whisky glass in his lap, not brave enough to look Jamie in the face.

“No – they had taken a carriage into town. To order a new saddle for William – for the summer,” explained John, shaking his head as he recalled it had been his suggestion. “Isobel was too distraught to give me any details, so I interviewed the nanny. I am ashamed to say that I was far more brusque with my questioning of her than I could possibly have been with my dear wife.”

Pausing to glance up from his lap, John looked at Jamie to see if he would reproach him for his treatment of the staff at Helwater. He had known many of them. But there was no condemnation in his eyes, just understanding.

“After measuring up for the saddle they had gone to a tearoom. The nanny had taken William to look at the cakes and sweetmeats. She was distracted when someone knocked into her, spilling hot tea onto her shawl – I suspect that was a deliberate act of someone who was in league with the villains.” A glance at Jamie met with agreement. “She told me she heard a woman’s voice, with a Scottish accent, beckon the boy towards the yard at the back of the premises. She followed quickly, and heard the woman ask William if he would like to see ‘Mac’ again. By the time she got to the door, he was gone. She alerted Isobel and they went out into the street, but there was no sight of him. But on their return to the tearoom there was a note left on the table they had been sitting at - addressed specifically to me.”

“Weel, I can see why they think it was me that took the lad,” huffed Jamie, contemplating the planning that had gone into the abduction.

“Yes – whoever took him knew precisely what it would take to lure him away from Isobel.”

“The note – what did it demand?”

“A substantial sum of money and … the sapphires I own,” John flushed as he faltered over the word ‘sapphires’. Twisting the ring on his little finger, he pondered the other one, hanging close to him at all times. “This one in the ring I wear and … and the one you gave me.”

Jamie frowned – then raised his eyebrows as John unfastened his cloak to reveal the gem mounted in a setting and fastened to his waistcoat. The setting was intricate and designed to keep the stone safe and to allow it to be worn discreetly.

“John?” asked Jamie, curious as to the reason he would wear the jewel in such a fashion. He had always assumed John had sold the sapphire.

“I kept it in memory of our … our friendship.” John smiled sadly, thinking instead of the memory of the love he had developed for Jamie, enduring and largely unreturned.

“What else did the note say?” asked Jamie, not wanting to dwell on the meaning of John’s explanation.

John slid a folded piece of paper from a pocket inside his cloak – as he opened it there was a curl of hair – auburn and soft, and as John held it to the light, coppery tones revealed themselves as the light struck it.

“They must have cut this from his head after taking him, to prove to us that the note was from those who have him,” deduced John as he reverently passed the paper and lock of hair to Jamie.

While Jamie was running a finger over the hair, as if stroking the hair of his son in comfort, John explained what else the note held.

“There are details of the site where the exchange is to take place, at the solstice. A stone circle beyond Inverness. I shall be riding on as soon as my horse has been rested, fed and watered. I know it is not mid-June yet, but I do not want bad weather to delay me any further. There are hours enough of daylight, but these damn storms have set me back already.”

“Do the Dunsanys know that’s where ye’re going?” asked Jamie, wondering if they were aware of the reasons for John’s desertion of duties.

“No. Although they probably suspect that I am looking for William.” John frowned, hoping that they respected his decisions. “The note made it clear that if I divulged the details of the exchange with the Dunsanys, that William would be dead before I could find him.”

“The kidnappers must have someone at Helwater,“ reasoned Jamie, a scowl on his face.

“Yes, I presume likewise,“ agreed John. “Otherwise they would not be aware that I possess the gems that they asked for.”

“For them to implicate me as a potential kidnapper, after I’ve been gone these past two years,” Jamie shook his head as he pondered the awful conclusion that had to be drawn. “It’s as if they know the nature of my relationship to the lad.”

“I know, that occurred to me as well.” John admitted. “But I have no idea who it could be. There were an abundance of rumours about you after you left – amongst the grooms and the other servants.”

“Have ye shared these suspicions with anyone else but me?” asked Jamie, anxious that the real reason for Lord Dunsany’s reaction had as much to do with finding out his groom had taken his daughter’s virginity.

“Only Isobel, and that’s because she had already opened the note, in secret.” John looked at the crumpled note in Jamie’s hands and recalled Isobel clutching it to her chest, the ink with which his name had been written running from her tears that had fallen upon it. “However, you must know that she has long suspected the identity of the true father of her nephew. She knew that Geneva had never lain with the Earl and she was aware of the time her sister demanded your company. Isobel is an honourable woman, Jamie – she guards my true nature and turns a blind eye to whatever I happen to do whilst in London. As long as I remain discrete and bring no whiff of disrepute to her or her family, she is content. You can trust her.”

“I’m glad to hear that. She always seemed a kinder soul than her sister.” Jamie was reassured that Isobel could be trusted not to put his son in any danger.

“I need your help, Jamie. Although your innocence would be better proved if you were to stay here.” The earnest plea from John was tempered by his admission that it would serve Jamie better to stay in Edinburgh. “Whoever has taken William has made a threat to kill him, they are dangerous – although I would willingly give my life to save him, I need someone I can trust to make sure he is returned safely to his mother’s family.”

“They think I’m the kidnapper-" protested Jamie, even though he had no intention of staying here in his shop while John Grey set off alone to save his son.

“Isobel does not – I have left her a signed statement to explain the situation should I not return from my mission. I have left another for my brother – who will vouch for you if the worst should come to the worst. Isobel also has a letter for my regiment to explain the circumstances of my unauthorised leave of absence in the eventuality of my death – so no disgrace falls upon either her or William.”

Jamie snorted. He should have known that John Grey would have made arrangements should he fail to survive. He was surprised that those provisions included himself. He had misjudged John – and not for the first time. He was an honourable man and always would be – he had not taken advantage where he could have in the past and he had ridden to Edinburgh with as much speed as possible to find Jamie and appraise him of what had happened. 

“So, until we rescue our wee lad, we’re both on the run from the authorities?” surmised Jamie, with a twitch of his lips. He could not blame John for the kidnap of his son, but he could join forces with him to rescue the lad.

“That sums up the situation. If you choose to remain in Edinburgh, I shall write to the Dunsany’s to inform them I have sought you out, that William is not with you and that you are innocent of any crime they suspect you of – I shall ensure you are exonerated and –"

Jamie held out a hand and pressed a finger to John’s lips keeping him from speaking another word.

“To quote ye – d’ye really think I would accept such an offer?”

John looked into Jamie’s eyes and smiled. Not long after he had last spoken those words, Jamie had kissed him and from the look on the other man’s face, he too, recalled that occasion with fondness.

Gently taking hold of Jamie’s hand and moving it from his mouth, John replied, his voice hoarse with emotion:

“No – because you are a man of honour and you love your son.”

“Aye – and I’m verra fond o’ the man raising him. Ye’ll no’ be doing this alone, John.”

Jamie leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to John’s lips. He wanted to revisit that moment of faith exchanged two years ago, when he had entrusted not only his son to John, but his soul. He had kissed him then because John refused to take what he so dearly wanted, and that kiss represented the affection he felt for him – the love that lurked deep within him for his dearest of friends.

“What was that for?” asked John, as Jamie moved back, their lips parting, but their breaths still mingling.

Jamie leant forward again, until their foreheads touched. He had not realised how much he had missed John until then, the moment he had kissed the man. It was if a connection had been rekindled and they could achieve so much more together than apart.

“Thank ye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to mistresspandora for looking over this first chapter and making some excellent suggestions on how the writing style could be improved. I am also grateful to her for the encouragement when I first started to post this story, her support was greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

It did not take long for Jamie to put paid to John’s suggestion that they set off immediately. Even though he was also anxious to get on the road in pursuit of Willie’s kidnappers, he knew the benefits of proper preparations. He also needed to make sure that John was in a fit state to keep travelling and from what he had observed he would not make it further than Stirling. It also occurred to Jamie that he needed to spare his rage for those who had snatched Willie and not his old friend – his attack on John had seemed to have drained whatever energy the man had left.

“Well, if we’re not setting off immediately, shall we discuss strategies?” suggested John, the military commander in him coming to the fore. If not engaged in battle, planning came next in order of priority.

“Aye. Although I reckon our experience in battle plans is no’ too similar,” replied Jamie, shaking his head slightly. “Another drink?”

“Ah,” said John, looking down at the empty glass he was still cradling in his lap. “I am afraid I have abused your hospitality once by helping myself, so I shall not insult you twice by refusing your offer.”

Bringing over the bottle and a glass for himself, Jamie sat down on the floor next to John and poured them each a generous measure of whisky. They raised a toast to William, a successful rescue and damnation to those who had taken him.

John was relieved to have Jamie’s input; his knowledge of the Highlands was incomparable and would make their mission more likely to succeed. His own plans beyond Edinburgh were not well formed, as he realised the more he discussed plans with Jamie. His experiences of riding through the Highlands had been as part of a regiment and before the clearances under the orders of the Duke of Cumberland.

If John was thankful to have Jamie’s local expertise to assist their mission, Jamie was very pleased to know that, following the nightmare of Culloden, his friend had served in campaigns overseas from Prussia to Quebec, and had therefore played no part in the subjugation of the Highlands. If he had played any part in the Duke of Cumberland’s bloody clearances their friendship would have been over. However, as an Englishman, with all the bearing of the officer that he was, he would encounter more than a little animosity on his journey. In John’s current condition, if he had continued as a solitary traveller, Jamie surmised that his throat would have been slit by robbers before he even set eyes on Am Monadh Ruadh.

“Ye’re a brave man, John, planning to cross the Highlands alone,” muttered Jamie as he took a sip from his glass.

“I’ve had my fair share of adventures. I can assure you that I can take care of myself,” came John’s response, despite the fact that the stakes were so much greater this time.

“Aye, I’ve seen the scars-" Jamie frowned as he recalled the traces of injuries that bore witness to the fact that John had been in battle and had led from the front.

“Not all of them,” murmured John as he gulped down more of the fine whisky.

“What?” demanded Jamie, wondering what John had been up to in the time since he had last seen him. For some reason, it made his stomach clench at the thought of John being wounded or having been placed in mortal danger. “I verra much hope ye’ve not been engaged in any more duels since the one with Twelvetrees.”

“No, I have been expressly forbidden to accept or offer any more challenges of that nature.” Although John did not mention his brother by name, he still resented Hal dictating how he should behave – he could only imagine the state of apoplexy his desertion would cause to be visited upon his dear brother. “However, since we last met I have not been idling away my time as a gentleman of leisure by the lakes, as you will know from my letters.”

Jamie grumbled under his breath. Those damn letters that followed him across Scotland, showing that John Grey had been keeping tabs on him, even down to addressing him as Alexander Malcolm. He detested the fact that John knew where he was, but he was equally delighted to hear from him. He always worried when too many months went by without a missive from some far-flung part of the world, concerned that his friend had lost his life and that no one would think of telling him.

“I shall be glad for your company on this occasion,” said John, interrupting Jamie’s thoughts. He raised his glass to Jamie’s and said: “Let’s bring young William to safety together.”

“Aye – here’s to bringing both Willie and ourselves home in one piece,” agreed Jamie, tapping the rim of his glass against John’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their first point of agreement had been that the people who had taken William were unlikely to be travelling on horseback, but by carriage. John confirmed that the Dunsany’s had determined that the only traffic seen in the vicinity of the teashop at the time of the abduction had been a couple of carriages and a few farmers’ wagons. It was one of those rural communities, where people noticed anything out of the ordinary, so John had been prepared to believe that William had been taken away inside a carriage, where he could be kept quiet out of sight. His heart ached at the thought of the boy screaming and kicking for help, probably as angry as he would have been frightened.

“Probably a carriage, with the roof up to conceal him,” sighed John, absently rubbing his face and blinking his eyes.

“Aye, it would make sense. If they’d put him on a horse I imagine he’d have made an escape bid of his own?” Jamie asked, knowing what the answer would be, but needing to steer John away from the worrisome thoughts that seemed to be plaguing him.

“Indeed. He hasn’t changed much in that respect, as soon as his feet are in the stirrups he wants to gallop away,” John smiled in fond memory, recalling even ‘Mac’ the groom having to take a firm hand with the boy whenever he was near the horses. “Many’s the time I’ve had to take chase after him. You’ll be pleased to hear that I have learnt the advantages of leaning down low over the withers of my horse to get more speed, especially when in pursuit of young William.”

“I’d like to ha’ seen that!” chuckled Jamie, imagining his son galloping away with John riding after him, calling out for him to stop. He was also glad to hear that John had taken his advice on posture when galloping. His rigid upright stance was all well and good for the battlefield, but for speed, it helped to lean forward and have your head close to that of the horse. However, he doubted if John ever resorted to the language he had to use to get through to the lad on occasion.

“So, we’re agreed? They will probably stick to Wade’s roads from here to Inverness?” asked John as he returned to the conversation they had been having. He was surprised to hear Jamie curse in Gaelic and a quick glance showed that he had said something to upset the man.

“If ye want to stay in one piece, I suggest ye dinna refer to them that way again until ye’re back in England.”

“Ah, of course. My apologies – that was insensitive.” John felt awkward having made specific reference to the man responsible for the roads built to transport English troops deep into Highland territory during the Jacobite risings.

“Ye’re not wrong though; they’re built to last and are used for carriages, wagons and the like in all seasons.” Jamie acknowledged the reasoning behind John’s statement – the cobbled roads north would be the ones used by the kidnappers. “But that doesna mean we have to. As long as yer horse is no’ too highly strung, we can make better time taking other routes. I’ll show ye what I have in mind.”

Jamie pushed himself to his feet and opened a drawer in a low, wide cabinet and pulled out a large template of a map of Scotland. He set it out on the well-lit table in the centre of the workshop and beckoned John to join him. He tried not to show that he had noticed John almost stagger as he got to his feet – possibly due to the whisky, but just as likely lack of food and exhaustion. When John stood alongside him, Jamie traced a finger along the Firth of Forth inland to a point where the river could be crossed, through Stirling, towards Crieff and then north towards Inverness, all the while steering clear of the main routes.

“See these roads? Well, those will be the routes they’d ha’ taken.” Jamie indicated the military roads that they had discussed. “I ken faster routes, off the beaten track, where we can avoid people.”

“I understand,” said John, nodding his head. “If we avoid the main roads there’s less risk of either of us being apprehended.”

“Aye and we’ll also need to stay away from the coaching inns,” explained Jamie, hoping John understood that they would be off the beaten track and would need to be well prepared.

“Damn,” exclaimed John, biting his lower lip. “They’ll have to make stops and I was planning to question the landlords and grooms, find out if anyone has seen a young boy-"

“I can see the point o’ that,” agreed Jamie. “Maybe take it in turns to drop in fer a drink on the way and tae ask a few questions, but I wouldna risk sleeping there – we’d be too vulnerable.”

Contemplating his reasons for avoiding any centres of population on his journey to Edinburgh, John had to agree. Neither of them could rescue William if they were arrested and taken back to England.

“That’s what I had planned. I thought I could base my persona on my brother – indignant at his wife snatching their son and taking him away with her to spite him.” On deciding on a character to depict indignant outrage and a willingness to buy information, Hal Grey had sprung to John’s mind immediately. “I thought I might gather information on the way.I If anyone has seen a child of William’s age and features, descriptions of the carriage, and the nature of the kidnappers-”

“Good idea, although ye’re likely to get nowhere as an Englishman pursuing a Scotswoman north of here.”

“Ah – I had considered that and thought coins may loosen tongues.”

“It might serve better if ye let me ask the questions,” suggested Jamie, as he considered the type of reception that John would probably receive if he were to sound like his brother. “A Scotsman is likely to be more willing to point a fellow countryman in the right direction of a runaway spouse.”

“Whose son speaks like a well-bred Englishman?” prompted John, one eyebrow raised.

“Aye – the less said about that the better.” Jamie pressed his lips close together and held back thoughts of his and Claire’s child, wherever and whenever they were… another child of his brought up away from him and his home country. It appalled his sensibilities to think of his two children both growing up speaking with an English accent and not learning a word of Gaelic.

John saw the way that Jamie’s face fell and could tell he was saddened by the separation he had suffered. He wondered if a promise to bring William to visit would help or just make the child’s true father even more upset. He chose to save any such vow until they had him safely out of the hands of those who do him ill. After all, he had come to terms with the fact that there was no guarantee that he would survive to keep such a promise.

“I would assume they will not let anyone hear him speak,” said John, clearing his throat. “That would draw attention and I doubt they will be seeking that.”

“Aye, ye make a good point,” agreed Jamie, nodding his head. He drew John’s attention back to the map. “See here? We’ll be taking a major detour here.“

Jamie traced the route he was suggesting with his finger – watching as John nodded and then looked up sharply as he drew a line across the Cairngorms.

“Across and not around?”

“Aye – it’s summer and the ground will be drier, less snow and the rivers will no’ be running sae fast or sae high.” It had been a while since Jamie had traversed the valleys and passes between the lowlands and the highlands of Scotland, and if the circumstances had been different, he would be excited at the prospects of a journey through the Cairngorms with his good friend. As it was, he sighed as he reassured John: “It’s my land, John, I’ll get us through there safely.”

“So, it’s agreed that we’ll be setting up camp overnight away from settlements?” John frowned as he wondered what they would need to take. “How much do you anticipate we’ll need in terms of supplies?”

“Dinna fash.” Jamie interrupted quickly. He knew what they needed and where he had it all stashed. Travelling cross country on the run was something he had considerably more previous experience of than John. “I’ll sort out the right kit fer us to take along.”

“Will we really need to take much with us? The less we’re carrying the faster we can travel,” argued John, concerned that they would end up needing another horse or a mule, just to carry the gear they’d be taking with them. “I travelled light from Helwater to here. I got by adequately –"

“Aye, I can see how well that’s worked out fer ye!” guffawed Jamie, almost choking on the swig of whisky he had just taken. “Ye’ve slept under hedges I take it, from the leaves and twigs in yer cloak. Ye’re soaked tae the skin, half-starved and barely capable of keeping on yer feet-"

“I coped perfectly well-" John interrupted to defend himself. However, his defence was scuppered as he spotted an errant piece of plant material snagged in the lining of his cloak, which he pulled on to reveal a substantial piece of tree.

“Ye passed out the moment ye arrived!” exclaimed Jamie, rolling his eyes. The intervening fight and discussion had almost caused him to forget the sight of his friend collapsing to the floor with exhaustion.

“You have me there,” John admitted with a sigh. “I concede. Perhaps a small tent, or at least a roll of canvas?”

On his journey to Edinburgh, John had frequently lamented the lack of a waterproof covering as he curled up under the overhanging branches of shrubs and trees. A length of waxed canvas draped over branches would have made a far more serviceable shelter.

“Aye. I take it ye’ve been sleeping with no’ but this cloak as a covering the past few nights,” commented Jamie, frowning as he took hold of the fabric and squeezed it in his fist until it released a trickle of water. The material was too fine and soft to provide any barrier to the driving rain that had been battering the hillsides for the past week. “Ye’ll need something better than this. In the meantime, ye need to come back to my lodgings so ye can dry off and get a good night’s sleep. We can set off at first light.”

“But- “ John was about to protest once more but was dissuaded by the look on Jamie’s face, the look that made it clear that he was not going anywhere. Suppressing the urge to make an unseemly sound, John nodded. “Again, I concede to your better judgement.”

“D’ye no’ think I’m just as worried?” demanded Jamie, understanding why John was so anxious to set off as soon as possible. “It sours my wame to think o’ my son and what he’s going through. But the route I’m intending we take canna be safely used at night, no’ without risking injury to the horses.”

“Of course, that is perfectly logical and it makes good strategic sense,” agreed John, nodding his head. “I just cannot help but worry -"

“I ken what ye’re feeling. But ye need to rest, John, ye’re dead on yer feet, man.” Jamie took another close look at his friend and wondered when he had last rested or stopped for food. “Can ye even recall when ye last stopped fer a bite tae eat?”

“I ate on the road,” asserted John, looking decidedly sheepish. He had not stopped for food at all, only for sleep and to rest his horse.

“Ye’re skin and bone, man,” observed Jamie, recalling how light John had been when he had lifted him off his feet. Although the large cloak hid his body, Jamie could tell from his face that John had lost weight. “I doubt ye’ve had more than a crust o’ bread since ye got the news he’d been taken, have ye?”

“I’ll admit I’ve had no appetite, especially after reading that note,” replied John, subtly avoiding answering the question. “I’ve been too sick with worry.”

“I understand, truly I do,” sympathised Jamie, reaching out to take hold of John’s arm in support. “But to be ready to take these bastards on, we both need to be fit and sharp. It sounds like the rain’s slackened off fer now, so it’s a good time fer us to head out of here.”

Jamie walked over to the front of the shop and looked out, over the steps that led up to the front entrance. The rain had stopped beating down on the awning and the sign outside for Alexander Malcolm was no longer swinging wildly in the wind. He had hoped to see Ian before leaving, but decided it was better that the lad was not seen with both him and John.

“I take it ye didna leave yer horse tied up outdoors in this?” asked Jamie, peering out onto the narrow street and seeing no sign of another living soul – man or beast.

“No – I left him at the stables at the bottom of High Street,” replied John, picking up his hat and pulling it down over his eyes, in readiness for venturing outdoors. “Not in my own name of course. I gave the owner coin enough for him to be cleaned and fed.”

“Good. My room isna far from there. We can stop by and ye can instruct them that he’ll be staying the night,” stated Jamie, reiterating the point that neither of them would be riding anywhere until daylight. It also occurred to him that John had taken more care over his horse than he had himself. “While we’re there, ye can pick up yer kit so ye can change into some dry clothes.”

“About that … I am afraid that I have none,” admitted John awkwardly.

“No dry clothes? Or no other clothes?” asked Jamie, incredulous that either option could possibly apply to John Grey.

“The latter, since you ask,” confessed John. “If I had stopped to pack clothes, then Tom would have-"

“Of course,” Jamie smiled as he imagined the scene. Tom Byrd would have demanded to know what clothes were required and for what reason, probably making several suggestions of his own. Jamie chuckled as he recalled his impression of wee Byrd, always aiming to attire Lord John in the most fashionable garments, taking pleasure in making sure that his master outshone every other man in the room. “I can also imagine he’d have insisted he come wi’ ye.”

“Without doubt,” agreed John, catching Jamie’s eye and shaking his head as if he could imagine exactly what Jamie was thinking about. “Which, naturally, I could not countenance. The thought of putting him in danger, again, is intolerable. This way it can also be proved that he knew nothing of my intentions.”

“Aye, true enough.” Jamie paused as he took in yet another morsel of information. “However, I am even more worrit about the state ye’re in now I ken that ye left home without several changes of handsome suits.”

Despite his teasing, Jamie was genuinely concerned. John Grey was absent without leave from his regiment by all accounts, travelling light, and not stopping to eat or drink. The man was beyond exhausted. Jamie was convinced that if he did not force John to rest, he would not make it to Inverness without falling off his horse. Despite the urgency of their quest, it was essential that they were both up to whatever challenges they were to face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note warnings and tags with regard to this chapter, the dubcon is unintentional, yet has a lasting effect on both individuals concerned. The warning is given as the scene may be a trigger for some people - it happens in the final part of this chapter. Certain assumptions, by one of the people involved, voice opinions held both in the past and in the present day, these are hurtful and indicate lack of tolerance or awareness, but they do not go unchallenged. 
> 
> Many thanks to MistressPandora for carefully checking this chapter for me and making some very useful suggestions. Any mistakes remaining are all mine.
> 
> ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Chapter 3**

On the way to Jamie’s lodgings, they stopped off at the stables where John had left his horse. The chestnut stallion had been brushed clean and settled in a dry stall with food and water. John retrieved the saddle bags, which contained nothing of monetary value, although they did contain a battered old canteen, a thin blanket, and some dried bread wrapped in a linen cloth.

Jamie frowned as he saw the contents of the saddle bags. It really did appear that John was travelling with nothing more than he could carry in the pockets of his cloak. When he had seen the contents of the saddle bags– or lack of them – he had initially assumed that John had been robbed. He had been about to take the nearest groom to task, when his hand had been stayed by John who shook his head indicating that nothing was amiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once they had got past Bruno guarding the main entrance to Madame Jeanne’s brothel, Jamie had been forced to steer John quickly up the stairs before he was pounced on by the ladies of the house. A few of them hurled some lewd suggestions in their direction, suggestions of what they would be willing to do for two clients at once. Jamie smiled as it occurred to him that it was a rarity for the prostitutes to have such a very handsome potential client. He almost felt bad for denying them the custom, although his regrets were mollified to some extent as he knew that their company was not quite to John’s tastes.

“Clothes off!” instructed Jamie as soon as he shut and bolted the door to his room in the attic.

Despite the serious tone of his voice, Jamie was surprised to find John laughing at him.

“Such an assertive command,” spluttered John, amused at the sight of Jamie, hands-on-hips, telling him to undress. “And there was I thinking that you were trying to protect me from those who would have me stripped naked within minutes of crossing the threshold into one of their rooms.”

“Trust me, John, those lasses wouldna worry about getting ye totally naked,” responded Jamie, looking John up and down. He had a very good idea what the ladies of the house would make of John. “If ye’re no’ going to do as I ask, maybe ye’d like to spend the night with them instead? I ken Agnes has a taste for Englishmen if ye ken my meaning.”

“No, thank you,” replied John, holding up his hands in surrender, as he shuddered at the thought. “Although I have seen the inside of more brothels than you may imagine.”

“Aye? Ye’re a dark horse, John Grey.” Jamie narrowed his eyes as he considered what John was hinting at and decided to ask more at another time. “So, come on then, get yer kit off. I’ll light the fire and then we’ll get it drying and have something to eat.”

“I never thought I’d witness the day when I would hear you ordering me to strip off,” muttered John, sensing an inappropriate stirring in his loins at the idea of disrobing in front of Jamie Fraser in a room at the top of a brothel.

“Dinna gi’ me that look or ye’ll be put to bed wi’out yer supper!”

“Please forgive me.“ John shook his head, wondering if drinking on an empty stomach was responsible for his lapse in propriety. “It must be the whisky speaking – I do apologise.”

“Aye, ye did get through a lot – more than I did,” agreed Jamie.

They had drunk the whole bottle between them before leaving the print shop and, if Jamie was honest with himself, he could not quite remember how they had made their way through the narrow backstreets to the brothel he called home. If John had been unsteady on his feet when he had arrived in Edinburgh, it was a wonder he was still on them by the time they had made their way up the stairs to Jamie’s room.

“You mentioned supper?” asked John, as he unfastened his cloak and hung it up on hook on the back of the door. Not to be outdone by his nether regions, his stomach was also demanding attention, grumbling loudly.

“Aye, I dinna have much food here, but there’s some fresh bread,” Jamie pointed in the direction of the rough-hewn table near the window. “It was baked today, and no’ last month like that brick ye had stowed away. There’s also cheese, some apples and oatcakes.”

If Jamie had thought the simple fare not worthy of Lord John Grey, he was wrong if the grateful look on the man’s face was anything to go by. He had rarely seen a more earnest smile on the man’s face.

“That all sounds delicious.” It had been easier to ignore the hollow feeling in his gut while riding or sleeping, but faced with the prospect of finally sitting down to eat, John was almost in tears.

“Clothes off first – or ye’ll catch yer death.” Jamie frowned again. It had been well over two hours since John had entered his shop and all that time he had been in the clothes he had travelled in, which were no doubt still cold and damp.

While John set to removing his damp clothing, Jamie worked on the fire – it was already laid in the grate and just needed a spark to the kindling to get it to catch. Blowing gently to encourage the wood shavings to burn, Jamie kept an eye on John as he wearily peeled off the damp clothes. The coat and waistcoat had been mostly protected by the cloak, but the breeches were in the worst state – covered with mud and grass stains from where John had obviously slept rough. Jamie sighed as, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of numerous bruises that littered the pale skin of John’s thighs. He recognised those as unwelcome outcomes of sleeping on ground littered with rocks and stones. He also noticed some fresh scars that made him doubly concerned; it was as if John had no sense of self preservation and that was a feeling he was sadly familiar with. What gave Jamie reason to live was his family, including Willie, whereas he suspected that the lad was all that kept John going and that if he were to be lost, John would give up all hope of happiness in his life.

“The shirt, too,” instructed Jamie as he draped the cloak over the back of a chair. “I can see the back’s wet through, probably from water trickling down yer neck I suspect.”

Jamie could see that John was becoming more nervous as he removed each item of clothing and he could sympathise, he was familiar with the vulnerability that came with nudity, especially as there were no places left in which to conceal weapons. He had watched as John had reverently taken each item of weaponry and placed it on the top of the chest at the end of the bed: a rapier in its scabbard, a narrow-bladed dagger, a penknife and a finely decorated pistol.

As Jamie pulled a blanket from his bed to hand to John, he remarked on what a fine collection of armaments he was carrying.

“Thank you,” mumbled a grateful John. Turning his back, he lifted the shirt over his head and then swiftly wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, ensuring it covered his body. Concealing the way in which the front of his linen drawers was uncomfortably protruding.

“Those too – yer fancy underclothes.” As Jamie took the shirt and hung it to dry, alongside the waistcoat, coat and cloak, he pointed at the finely stitched drawers that were all that were preserving what was left of John’s modesty.

“No, there’s no need – really, they’re still quite dry,” argued John, ensuring the folds of the blanket draped in just the right way to maintain decency.

“I’ve got some if ye need a fresh pair, stockings too and a clean stock fer yer neck – ye seem tae ha’ lost yours.” Jamie made it clear that he had noticed the exposed throat. “Ye will need a fresh change of clothes, especially as ye’ve been riding in those fer the past three days.”

“But-" John started to protest.

“Ye’ve nothing I’ve no’ seen before, fer goodness sake, man. Ye can throw them on the fire if they’re in that bad a state!” Jamie scowled, growing increasingly impatient. He huffed as he put his hands on his hips once more, ready to scold his Lordship. “Are ye like this when wee Byrd asks ye to disrobe? Because if ye are, no wonder the poor lad looks as if ye work him tae the bone.”

John chose not to answer that question, but did recall that Tom could be just as bossy on occasion and wondered what it was that made the two of them so frustrated with him. With a pout, he carefully reached under the blanket to unfasten the drawers, loosening them enough that they could fall to the ground unimpeded, and then he kicked them aside with one foot. He had no intention of having Jamie Fraser hang his underclothing up to dry in front of the fire. However hard he tried to ignore his state of undress and the effects of Jamie Fraser’s curious eyes, squinting as if to check he was fully naked, John’s body betrayed him by refusing to cooperate by standing down.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, John found himself naked and aroused, wrapped in a scratchy woollen blanket, with the sounds of the work of the brothel infiltrating the room from below, facing a grinning Jamie Fraser.

“If wee Byrd could see ye now – yer hair all tangled and loose on yer shoulders, wearing naught but a moth-eaten banket,” chuckled Jamie, delighting at the pink spots he could see growing on John’s cheeks. “Poor Tom would have such a fit.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To John’s relief, they ate at the table, as that meant he could hide his arousal from sight until it subsided. The nature of the conversation regarding the details of their departure the next day was sufficiently serious to restore both men to sobriety by the time they were ready to retire for the night. John had revealed the miniature portrait of William that he had been carrying with him, intent on showing it to innkeepers on the way to see if they recognised the boy. He had been carrying it close to his body, in a pocket of his waistcoat, inside a cloth bag to keep it safe.

“He’s a bonny lad,” remarked Jamie as he held the miniature under the lantern, his spectacles propped on the tip of his nose so he could focus on the features properly. “Sae handsome.”

“Indeed – he looks more and more like his father every day,” remarked John, looking not at the portrait, but at Jamie. With Jamie so occupied gazing at his son, John was at liberty to allow his own love for both father and son to shine in his eyes. “That is yours to keep – when all this is over.”

“That’s verra kind o’ ye, John. Thank ye, mo charaid.” Glancing across at his friend, his eyes not quite focused, Jamie thought he saw a glimpse of longing in John’s eyes, tears maybe collecting at the corners, but dismissed the notion as a trick of the light combined with the effects of smoke from the fireplace.

The fire had died down and the night air was growing colder. Jamie could not help but notice that John was shivering, even bundled up as he was in the woollen blanket.

“It’s time ye got some sleep, John,” announced Jamie. “Ye’re shivering again.”

“I think it’s a combination of fatigue and the cold catching up on me,” John wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sighed.

“And the worry ye’ve been carrying alone for three days, I imagine.” It had only just dawned on Jamie that John had been alone in his fears and worry since he had left Helwater.

“That, too, “ admitted John. “I am so very glad that we’re doing this together.”

“Agreed,” muttered Jamie, before setting down the image of William and standing up abruptly before he allowed himself the unwelcome luxury of sentimentality towards the man he had threatened to murder earlier that same day. “In the meantime, I want ye to get yer skinny wee English arse into that bed now.”

Pushing himself to his feet with one hand, keeping the other clasped tight on the rough wool, John cleared his throat before nervously asking if Jamie had a nightshirt he could borrow.

“Aye, I can do that,” replied Jamie with a wink, before opening a cupboard and selecting the least worn of his shirts to give to John. “Wouldna wanting ye to get the wrong idea now, would we?”

Jamie indicated that John should take the far side of the bed, nearest the wall. There was a narrow gap on that side, which meant that John could not easily slip away without alerting Jamie. He did not truly believe that John would sneak off like a thief in the night, but it meant he could sleep soundly knowing he would awaken if John was to get up.

Sleep descended quickly on both men – the combination of alcohol, adrenaline, and exhaustion finally taking its toll.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shifting in his sleep, roused by the strange sounds still emitting from the rooms on the floor below, the working girls of Edinburgh apparently keeping late hours, John felt his prick standing to attention as he stroked it from root to tip, languorously as one does when barely awake, yet partly aroused. In his dreams he imagined a hard presence behind him, rutting against his bare buttocks, clumsily pushing against his arse, but not penetrating, just… just there… John smiled sleepily as he thanked his imagination for providing such a vivid dream.

Jamie fisted his cock, holding his firm pillow tight to his chest, rutting against it as he sought satisfaction. It had been a while since he had responded to the sounds of bedframes scraping against walls, not to mention the cacophony of grunts and squeals from the rooms in the brothel, but there was something in the air that morning that had made him more receptive to arousal. Breathing faster, he sped up his pace as he got closer to a state of wakefulness.

Clutching his own pillow with his free hand, John pushed back the hair from his face and then wondered how his left hand could possibly be in two places at once… then he felt the breath on his back, then what could only be teeth, firmly sinking into his shoulder. With an unmanly squeal of shock, John came to full alertness. As his eyes shot open, he saw the plain whitewashed wall barely a few inches from his face and realised where he was and with whom he had spent the night. It was not his hand around his prick, squeezing and tugging in such an effective manner … _Oh dear God in Heaven!_

The indignant sound from his pillow shocked Jamie and his eyes sprung open, wondering if there was another damn mouse in his bed. His eyes widened even further when he spied the neat indentations of his teeth – in Lord John Grey’s back! His arm was clutching John’s body and not his trusty pillow and his hand had been tightly wrapped around a stiff cock that was not his own. With that revelation, his eyes widened even further when he worked out exactly where his cock was – not in the warm hold of his fist, but wedged tightly between the firm buttocks of John Grey.

“Christ, John!” yelled Jamie, uncurling his fingers so he could use both hands to shove the man away from him.

“Dear God,” John rolled forward as he was pushed away and only just stopped himself from falling into the gap between bedframe and wall.

The dawning awareness of the reality of the situation, which surpassed his own dreams, horrified John and he had to grab hold of the base of his own leaking cock to prevent further mortification for both parties. Closing his eyes, hoping that perhaps it was still a dream, John was not certain if he should be praying that he would remember every single moment and sensation of having the object of his desires pressed so close to him or having them scoured from his memory from that point hence.

Jamie flung himself onto his back and threw one arm over his eyes. He grabbed hold of the pillow that had found itself abandoned at the side of the bed and held it over his groin to cover himself. He could not believe he had woken up to find himself wrapped around John’s body, about to commit acts of gross indecency – and not even with John’s consent.

As the full horror of what had almost happened manifested itself to Jamie, he scrambled out of the bed, his own nightshirt failing to adequately disguise an embarrassingly tumescent prick.

“Ifrinn! John!” cried Jamie, ashamed of himself. “I am so-"

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” demanded John, furiously. “Have you any idea … dear God, Jamie, what was going through your fucking head?”

“Whoa there - ye’re upset?” Jamie stopped short in his apologies. He was sorry that his body had caused him to act in a manner that was sinful and against his beliefs. But he was shocked that John was so angry. “Why – I’d ha’ thought this would be yer fantasy, waking up wi’ my cock up yer arse!”

“How dare you!” John shuffled down to the end of the bed so that he could stand up, face to face with the self-righteous Scot who dared make such assumptions. “Do you really think that even a sodomite enjoys being buggered against their will? If you really must know, any fantasies I may entertain that do involve you require us both to be willing participants! No matter whose prick was entering whose arse!”

“I dinna want tae hear ye talking about those vile… disgusting …" stammered Jamie, unable to put into words the maelstrom of feelings swirling around in his head.

“I'm only discussing them because your prick tried to act them out!” countered John, still enraged – not so much at what had nearly happened, but by the man’s reaction. He could not believe that Jamie thought it would not affect him.

“Ye were responding well enough-" began Jamie, pointing in the direction of John’s prick, surprised to see that it was already flaccid. 

“Dear God, Jamie, there’s no thought processes below any man’s belt, of course it responded.” John paused to take a deep breath, wondering how to phrase what he was trying to say. “After all, you…you were-"

“Dinna remind me what I was doing!” shouted Jamie, no longer sure he was angry at – John, himself, or their cocks for acting before either of them were awake enough to put a stop to inappropriate reactions.

“Well, now we’re awake and it’s not long till the sun rises,” reasoned John. “I think it best that we get dressed.”

“Aye, agreed,” grunted Jamie.

Quickly scrambling to get dressed, neither man could face each other. It occurred to John that not once in his whole time knowing Jamie had he been so polite to him. Perhaps that was his way of apologising? Either way, it felt incredibly awkward. Not the way he would have wanted to wake up, the morning after the first night they shared a bed together. He suppressed the memory that he had once claimed that he would make Jamie scream if he took him to his bed. Now that Jamie had taken him to his bed, they had _both_ screamed – in horror.

As soon as John was fully dressed, he reached out to grab his cloak.

“Fuirichibh, mo caraidh – dinna take that one,” said Jamie, his voice quiet. “I have a better one that will keep ye warmer and drier. Just as many pockets inside.”

Without waiting for a response, Jamie opened the chest at the bottom of the bed and pulled out his best travelling cloak, thick and warm. He helped John drape it over his shoulders and fastened it under his chin.

“That’s very kind of you, Jamie. Thank you.” John recognised the gift for what it was – an abject apology from a man who was mortally ashamed of his early reactions.

“As we agreed, ye should leave first. I’ll meet you as arranged.” Jamie stepped back and looked around the room to see if there was anything they had forgotten. “I’ll fetch the rest of the supplies with me and ye can take the gear I’ve packed in yer saddlebags, aye?”

“Of course,” John looked around too, wondering how to part on more convivial terms. “So, am I to sneak out of the estimable Madame Jeanne’s brothel to be waved up by some grateful wench?”

“No’ if ye want to get out of the place in one piece,” replied Jamie, with a sly grin, accepting the offer to part with goodwill restored. “Mind, ye have the look of a man who’s spent the night in a brothel, nae mistake.”

“I do hope you are not expecting a tip?” asked John, with a smirk. Fully dressed and no longer horizontal, it seemed safe to respond to Jamie’s teasing comment in kind. However unfortunate the incident had been, it had not been intentional, and their friendship had always managed to survive previous miscommunications.

Chuckling to himself, Jamie shook his head as he brushed off an imaginary piece of lint from John’s shoulder, recalling the sight of his own teeth marks in the soft skin. The lingering memory of that moment was shock and not disgust, which did not trouble him as much as he thought it should. What brought most shame to him was not waking up with the man in his arms, but at the way he had spoken to John - the assumptions he had made.

“Ye’ve no’ paid yet, ne'er mind giving me a bloody tip, man!” Jamie slapped John’s arm as he took a step back, smiling broadly, glad that their close friendship had not been irreparably damaged by his body’s indiscretion. “Greas ort!”


	4. Chapter 4

Feeling much more like himself, his hair combed out and clubbed in neatly at the nape of his neck with a dark blue ribbon borrowed from Jamie, along with a clean stock to keep the chill off his throat, Lord John Grey felt much better than he had the night before.

Despite the awkwardness upon wakening, John had slept well and was fortified from both the repast he had shared with Jamie the previous evening and the bowl of porridge that Jamie’s landlady had insisted he ate before leaving. Madame Jeanne had beckoned him into her dining room and set the steaming bowl in front of him. She had explained that a friend of Mr Malcolm’s was a welcome guest any time, paying or not paying. The delay had been worth it as the porridge had been creamy and soft, sweetened with honey. The coffee had also been most welcome: strong, with the bitterness offset by an excess of sugar. Sighing wistfully, John had almost forgotten the simple pleasures of a full stomach and an alert mind first thing in the morning.

It was not long after five o’clock and the sky was becoming lighter as John walked across the High Street towards the stables. His riding boots had dried out overnight, so he took particular care to avoid the puddles that lay in wait for unwary feet, he was also glad to see the street cleaners up and about with their barrows, shovelling up the horse shit, which meant one less hazard in the poorly lit streets. John was glad that the rain had stopped, although it was breezy and there were red-streaked, ragged clouds scudding across the peach coloured sky to the east, presaging more bad weather to come.

As he got closer to the stables, he could smell the astringent stench of horse piss and could hear the restless sound of the animals shifting around in their narrow stalls, eager to be out in the open again, they could no doubt sense the new day dawning. Kaphero, John’s stallion, was just finishing a bucket of oats with chopped carrots as he arrived. John was glad that both of them were well nourished before their onward journey, he had pushed the poor horse to its limits on his urgent flight from Helwater to Edinburgh. The way in which Kaphero tossed his head and turned to greet John, reminded him so much of the animal’s sire, Karolus, that John sighed as he recalled what had been a difficult period in his life and then he laughed sardonically as he wondered if there had ever been a time of his life that had not been fraught with challenges. 

Greeting the stable hand, John asked for his horse to be saddled immediately. Whilst waiting, John made idle conversation, taking care to give the impression he was leaving Scotland and returning back south towards London. That way should anyone trace his movements, the unsanctioned trip to Edinburgh would genuinely appear to be one taken to check on Fraser to see if he had William. John had written a short letter to Isobel, reinforcing this, in which he stated that he had visited Jamie Fraser, searched his work premises and accommodation, and found no trace of William Ransom. He had been tempted to say that he was travelling back to London to take up his commission but chose not to commit anything to paper that may be used against his loved ones. He had left he letter, with sufficient coin to cover the cost of it being posted, with the brothel’s burly porter, who had reassured him that it would be dispatched the same day.

Once he had settled his bill, John tested the tightness of the cinch strap, and attached the saddle bags, glad that he had taken the larger set, even though he had not had time to pack for himself before leaving Helwater. A quick peak into the saddle bags that Jamie had packed for him had made him smile. In one bag he discovered, along with a tightly rolled blanket, clean stockings and drawers, a comb for his hair and a small bottle of scented oil, which surprised him. In the other bag, there were some small wrinkled apples and a stack of oatcakes wrapped in a piece of linen carefully tied off at the top. There was also a coil of rope and a tinderbox, alongside the canteens which had been refilled for him. He patted his side recalling the flask of whisky that he had been told to tuck away before he had finally taken leave of Jamie. It appeared that Jamie wanted to make sure that, just in case John ended up travelling on his own, he was better equipped than he had been previously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time that John was taking the road south, out of the city, Jamie was almost ready for his own departure. He had intended to leave a note for Madame Jeanne, explaining that he had been called away and would be out of Edinburgh for at least two weeks in case anyone should come looking for him. However, he, too, had been waylaid by the woman as he tried to escape without notice. He should have known better, there was a stair that creaked especially loudly just as anyone reached the landing off which was situated the small dining room. He knew that Jeanne deliberately refused to have it repaired, she liked the fact that it ensured no one could sneak up to the rooms above or out in the morning without her knowing.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” sang out the voice of Madame Jeanne accompanied by the rustling of her skirts. “I met your delightful young gentleman this morning. Such a sweet man. You will be pleased to know I made sure he left with something warm inside him.”

Looking down at the petite brunette, Jamie spied the wicked twinkle in her eyes, and even though he knew she was teasing him, he could not help going bright pink before stuttering:

“He’s a… just a… verra… verra good friend o’ mine. Nothing more.”

“Bien sur, of course, mon ami,” she replied, patently not believing him for a moment. She took hold of Jamie’s arm, her dainty hands far stronger than they looked. “Come in and sit down, ‘ave something to eat. You know, mon cher, those attic rooms ‘ave such thin walls. The housemaid, Flora, she said to me she heard raised voices, very, very early this morning.”

If the teasing had caused Jamie to go pink beforehand, he reddened even more as he realised precisely what could have been overheard.

“Ah, that was just a wee misunderstanding,” muttered Jamie, suppressing a shudder as he recalled the actual magnitude of that mistake and its aftermath. “That’s all, I’m verra sorry if we disturbed the lass.”

Jeanne just shrugged as she gestured for Jamie to take the chair opposite her.

“A misunderstanding you say? Bien sur, they ‘appen all the time in a place like this.” Jeanne nodded as she ladled some porridge from a large tureen into a smaller bowl before setting it in front of Jamie. She waited until he had raised a spoonful to his lips before continuing: “How strange that dear Flora heard the words ‘cock’ and ‘arse’. Clear as day she said. Really, Mr Malcolm, you must not take away custom from my hard-working girls.” 

“I can assure ye that I –“ spluttered Jamie, burning his mouth as he took in a sudden intake of breath, virtually inhaling porridge. “And as for what she heard? Aye, I recall it now… we were throwing insults at each other, aye that’s what it was. Ye ken how it is, as men are wont tae do.”

“Really, mon cher? Hmmm, I also heard your conversation,” confessed Madame Jeanne, winking at him. “If you ‘ad not just reassured me that it was just a misunderstanding between friends, I could ‘ave sworn it was a lover’s tiff.”

“I am no’ that way inclined-“ Jamie had flushed bright red, not least of all as a consequence of almost choking on his breakfast. He was still coughing to clear his airways.

“Bon Dieu! Je pense que tu protestes trop! However, he most definitely is – I can always tell,” announced Jeanne confidently.

Jamie harrumphed under his breath. If it had not been for an advance made towards him in Ardsmuir he was sure he would not have been any the wiser with regard to John’s inclinations. Although it did occur to him that he had never known any other man take such care over his appearance. That was why he had been so shocked at the state John had been in when he had arrived the previous day.

“I would not blame you. If you were to take him as un amant masculin, you could not do better,” continued Jeanne, evidently quite taken with Lord John, judging by the way she was fanning herself as she spoke. “Vraiment, even in the salons de Paris,” 

Scowling as he tried to eat faster – becoming more and more convinced that the porridge was served scalding hot to prolong the time anyone would be kept captive at the woman’s breakfast table - Jamie was irked that she could even consider that he would have any desire for a male lover.

“Quel bel homme. You are so lucky to ‘ave such a man,” remarked Jeanne, patting Jamie’s hand as if to congratulate him on his good fortune. “He had the look about him of a chevalier – tu sais?”

“It is no’ like that – “ protested Jamie, finally able to interrupt his landlady’s eulogising of John.

Glowering to himself, Jamie had to admit she was not wrong, Lord John Grey was a very handsome man, not to mention a charming bastard. Jamie also could not disagree that if he ever were to have an interest in taking a male lover he could not do better than John. But he was not. Despite his body’s lack of propriety that morning. No. Definitely not. Never in a thousand years.

“Chacun a son gout. Each to their own, I suppose,” responded Madame Jeanne, with a slight shrug of her shoulders, almost dislodging the fine lace shawl, which she tucked back into the neckline of her dress. “So, if he is not your _particular friend_ , I assume he would be interested in other male company. You must let me know when he next comes to stay. I am sure I could fix him up with a very nice French boy – someone he could practice his pretty tongue on maybe?”

“No – ye canna do that! I’ll no’ let ye!” exclaimed Jamie, slamming the spoon down in the bowl causing gobbets of thick, white porridge to fly up and splatter his face.

Although Jamie had good reason to suspect that John did frequent brothels, especially after their discussion the previous night, the thought of his friend seeking satisfaction with a male whore – French or otherwise – troubled him. He ignored the clenching of his gut that suggested there was more to his reaction than that, reconciling it with concern for his friend’s reputation and safety. Nothing more.

“Humph!” snorted Jamie, in response to the triumphant look on Madame Jeanne’s face and his own wayward thoughts. He flicked open a folded napkin to wipe his face clean and avoided looking at the woman.

“I only meant that he speaks français comme un natif.” Jeanne pouted, as if anything of a more lascivious nature would never have crossed her mind. “However, I can see you guard his company quite jealously, and no one could blame you for that.”

She leant forward to take hold of Jamie’s arm in a conspiratorial manner as if suggesting she would keep his secret.

“I’ve told ye, we’re no’ lovers-“ stated Jamie, growling into his oats, to the delight of the Frenchwoman who just giggled.

Scraping his bowl clean and shovelling the last remnants of the porridge into his mouth, Jamie closed his eyes, only to open them again immediately as he recalled the way he had woken up that very morning. Despite his history of threats should John as much as touch him, it had been his hands and cock that had been about to take advantage of John’s body. He was ashamed of himself, but the more he thought about it, the less horrified he became. Their bodies had seemed to fit together remarkably well considering his faith deemed that alone to be despicably unnatural.

“Ah, so you keep telling me, mon cher. He is just a – how do you say it? Just an acquaintance to you? Oui?” Tilting her head to one side, she looked as harmless as a dove, but her eyes indicated that she had more to say. “However, no matter what you say your feelings are, you cannot deny that he is very much in love with you.“

Putting his face in his hands, Jamie grunted loudly, regretting his weakness for a bowl of porridge and his poor memory of the petite woman’s tenacious questioning technique. He had relied so much on her ability to wheedle information out of her customers for his benefit, that he had not reckoned on her skills being used on himself.

“I dinna ken what he said to ye-” started Jamie, speaking slowly, his brows furrowed, wondering what on earth she had got from John earlier that morning. _Surely John had not misinterpreted what had nearly happened between them?_

“He didn’t need to,” interrupted Jeanne, smiling softly and pointing at Jamie’s face. “His eyes say it all when I asked after you this morning. They sparkled like the wonderful jewel on his finger – like the ocean on a summer’s day.”

Waiting for Jamie to respond, Jeanne sat back and just watched for his reaction. As expected it came gruffly and disingenuously.

“Weel, whatever dreams he may entertain,” began Jamie, shrugging as if it was of no consequence at all. “It doesna matter, fer I have nae such feelings -“

“Oh! Tu ne me trompe pas! You protest too much.” Jeanne sighed, shaking her head in despair. “Spare me your attempts to pretend you ‘ave no feelings for your Lord John. You ‘ave gone as pink as ton bel ami, except it looked better on him.”

Jamie was not sure if he had been insulted, called out for lying, or accused of being John’s lover – or all three. Whichever way he looked at it, he was disgruntled especially as he could not, in good faith, completely deny everything that Madame Jeanne had so meticulously deduced.

“Thank ye fer the breakfast, Madame.” Jamie barely managed to be polite as he was simmering with feelings he did not entirely understand. “I really think it is time I took my leave o’ ye fer now. I shall be in touch to let ye know when I intend to return. I have had to attend to a family emergency, should anyone ask.”

“Of course. Just make sure you ‘ave taken everything you need from your room,” advised Jeanne, with a wary look. “Leave nothing behind that you may regret not ‘aving taken with you.”

“Aye, I shall do that,” replied Jamie, nodding his head. “Au revoir, Madame.”

Taking the woman’s sage advice to heart, Jamie dashed back up the stairs to make sure there was no trace left of John’s presence in his room. Should anyone trace Jamie’s residence in Edinburgh to the brothel and search his room, it would not do for any belongings of John to be found there, which could suggest they were working together. Immediately, he spotted the stained and torn cloak, draped over chair where he had discarded it earlier after insisting on giving John something more substantial to keep out the elements. Jamie decided he would leave it with Bruno and ask the man to make sure it was ‘picked up’ by one the many vagrants that lived on the streets of Edinburgh. But, just to be sure, he checked all the concealed pockets to see if John had emptied every single one of them, the man was a magpie when it came to picking up items that took his fancy. Jamie was not surprised to find, deep inside the lining, a handful of loose objects that had fallen through from a tear in one of the pockets. It was an eclectic collection of items, none of which seemed to be of any value to man nor beast – a dark wooden pawn from a chess set, a broken flash pan from an old musket, a button that did not match anything he had been wearing and, folded up carefully, a small note of apology for an unnamed wrongdoing- from William. The carefully formed letters of each word reminding Jamie of what was at stake. He slipped the note into a pocket of his waistcoat for safekeeping and discarded the rest. He was relieved that John had taken almost everything of worth with him.

Contemplating objects of value, he recalled an earlier discovery. Whilst John had been having a quick wash, Jamie had been setting out his dried clothes, alongside a few items of his own for John to use. When removing the waistcoat from the back of a chair, he had taken a closer look at the mounted sapphire attached to a pocket flap. The gemstone was beautifully set in a gold surround, with even more gold adorning the felt stitched to the soft leather. Revelling in the feel of the gem in his hand for the first time since he had surrendered it to John in Ardsmuir prison, Jamie had felt raised stitchwork on the reverse of the leather. He had turned it over to see elaborate gold embroidery, taking the form of two phrases in Latin, the first neatly stitched, the second more crudely done, yet still clear enough to read.

Latin was a language that Jamie was very familiar with. The first phrase read: ‘ _memoriam amicitiae’_ \- in memory of friendship. The reason John had given him for keeping the gemstone. The second read ‘ _amore peribat’-_ unrequited love. Feeling as if he was prying on John, he had hastily turned the piece around, so it hung in place once more.

“Your waistcoat, me Lord.” Jamie had said, in a poor imitation of the man’s devoted valet. “But dinna expect me to help ye dress, I’ll no’ be competing with wee Byrd for that task.”

“The thought would never occur to me.” John had replied, with a knowing smirk.

Looking around the empty room, recollecting his astonishment at seeing the sentiments spelt out in gold thread, Jamie faced the inescapable truth that John’s feelings for him were far more enduring than mere lust and infatuation, not that he had really believed that to be the case since they had returned from that trip to Ireland. It also struck him that his inappropriate actions and harsh words earlier that day could have hurt John in a way a blade never could.

For John to have taken that gemstone and set it so reverently to wear about his person suggested a depth of feeling Jamie had never fully acknowledged. He had once argued with John that the love of one man for another could never equate with the love a man could have for a woman. If that sapphire showed anything, it was that he had been grievously wrong and had served John a grave injustice. _Damn it all, Madame Jeanne was right, as ever – John was very much in love with him and had been for many years_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before leaving the city to ride to the pre-arranged rendezvous with John, Jamie stopped by at the print shop.

Despite trusting Ian implicitly, Jamie had still felt the need to check in person that his nephew had left the premises as instructed. He had then put a notice in the window of the shop to state that ‘A. Malcolm’ would be out of town for two weeks, due to a family emergency and that he apologised for any inconvenience caused to any of his customers.

By the time he rode out of Edinburgh, along the road towards Falkirk, he was nearly two hours behind John. He hoped the weather held until they met up at Dundas – he did not like the thought of John sitting in the rain for hours waiting for him to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riding out in the early morning mist, John was pleased that the rain had held off. He had deliberately headed southwards until he was out of the city, so that it would appear to any onlooker that he was returning to England. However, he had then ridden westwards, with the sun to his back as made his way back towards the river. It was so early that the only people out and about were farmers tending livestock and although his route took him past many fields where farm hands were busy leading cows towards the milking sheds , they were all far too busy to pay any attention to a solitary horseman.

Despite his urge to ride fast, he had taken heed of Jamie’s advice – to ride at a steady pace and not draw attention to himself. Ducking his nose down, he inhaled deeply, he had discovered that the woollen cloak held the distinct scent of Jamie Fraser in its folds, which provided a comfort, despite the earlier embarrassment of the morning.

The landscape was gently undulating and the road well-travelled, so it was easy on both rider and steed. Looking to his right he caught glimpses of the Forth Estuary through the trees, providing a constant check that he was riding in the right direction. As he travelled inland, the track taking a course onto slightly higher ground, he could see the meanders of the river as it curled across its floodplain like a snake. With a stiff breeze to his back, blocked very effectively by Jamie’s cloak, and the sound of birdsong in his ear, he made good progress, keeping the Forth to his right all the way. The floodplain was flat and heavily farmed – the road quite straight as it threaded its way through fields bordered by hedgerows of hawthorn and briar rose, brimming over with the frothy flowerheads of cow parsley and Queen Anne’s lace. The sun was warm on his back as he headed west, and for the first time in days he felt optimistic about his chances of success.

The ten miles to Dundas Castle Estate were easy going, the woodlands full of the sound of birds greeting the dawn – the songs of robins and blackbirds sweet to his ear, as if soothing his troubled soul. With his horse walking and taking a few short breaks, he had calculated that it would take about three hours to reach Dundas – the plan being that Jamie would be about an hour behind him. They had arranged to meet as if by chance, resting up their mounts near the small lake on the estate at around eleven o’clock. That gave them plenty of time to reach Stirling by nightfall without wearying their horses too much. Jamie had quite reasonably drawn the conclusion that John’s horse had been ridden hard in the preceding few days and suggested that taking it easy would allow the animal chance to recuperate before they entered the Highlands and encountered rougher terrain.

It was as if he had put behind him the rain and despair of the journey to Edinburgh and was setting off with more hope in his heart, especially as he knew that Jamie would be joining him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting on a conveniently placed tree stump, looking out over the ornamental lake, John fed one of the wrinkled apples to Kaphero while he nibbled an oatcake, taking care not to get crumbs on his clothes. A small flock of sparrows had gathered around his feet, pecking at the crumbs that had scattered to the ground. Suddenly they all flew off, startled by something.

A hefty arm wrapped itself around his neck and pulled him up from his seat, hard, against a large unyielding body.

“Well met, mo caraidh,” a voice spoke up from behind him.

Turning swiftly, John was met by the grinning face of Jamie Fraser.

“Ye should be more alert, man.” The smile dropped as Jamie frowned. “I couldha been a redcoat about to arrest ye!”

It was then John’s turn to grin as he took a small step back to reveal a sharp knife in his hand, pressed against Jamie’s ribcage.

“I never travel without this close to hand,” stated John as he tucked the dagger back into its sheath.

“I’m mighty relieved that ye’re no’ so careless,” remarked Jamie. “Or I wouldna be trusting ye to take yer turn keeping watch at night.”

Jamie sat down on the vacated tree stump and helped himself to one of the remaining oatcakes, dispatching it in three mouthfuls.

“You are late, sir – I was worried,” said John as he leaned back against a tree.

“Madame Jeanne delayed me – but she’s been a good friend, even though she has the daftest of notions.”

“Such as?” asked John, curiously. He had found the Frenchwoman to be quite delightful.

“Dinna fash.” Jamie shook his head, not wanting to revisit that particular conversation, not in such close company with the object of much of that discussion. “Nothing fer ye to worry yer wee head over.”

John shrugged, taking Jamie at his word. He looked up into the tree canopy and saw the way the branches were swaying more vigorously, the sound of the wind in the leaves like waves on the shore. Despite the urgency of their task, it felt good to be outdoors with Jamie Fraser once more, sharing a quiet moment with the man. John sighed as he realised that moment could not last.

“It is nearly midday,” stated John, referring to his pocket watch. “Do you think we can still reach Stirling by nightfall?”

“Nae problem,” replied Jamie, standing to shake the crumbs from his lap. “I’ll fetch my horse.”

“I very much hope she’s not a mare,” said John, frowning as the thought occurred to him. “Kaphero takes after his sire and is easily distracted.”

“Nae problem. But he’s just as headstrong,” Jamie smiled to himself as he walked across to the chestnut stallion. He ran a hand down the impressive animal’s flank and felt him settle quickly. “Kaphero, huh? He’s a bonny lad. But I suspect the two will no’ be the best of bed mates.”

“We’ll just have to make sure they’re not too close together overnight then, won’t we?” suggested John with a wink.

“Aye that we will. If ye’ve had enough to eat yer Lordship, it’s time we set off.” Jamie held out the reins of Kaphero as John mounted his horse. “We’ve a son to rescue.”

“ _We’ve_ a son?” repeated John, emphasising the first word, his eyebrows raised in astonishment.

“Ye ken what I meant,” scowled Jamie. “He’s my son and- “

“And mine, too. I have adopted him legally.”

“Well that makes us two fathers that certain kidnappers should never have crossed swords with, aye?”

John grinned as Jamie’s sentiments so closely matched his own.

The chances of success were more than doubled with Jamie Fraser at his side. His heart was warmed by what Jamie had let slip - he had referred to William as _their_ son. Indeed, the boy was their son and it occurred to John that in this instance the child was more blessed than any other, in having two fathers, either of whom would kill or be killed to have him returned to safety.

That they would also be prepared do so for each other was a truth he was yet to discover.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a loooong chapter, which refused to be shortened.
> 
> Day 1 of the journey north comes to an end ... after an unexpected altercation.
> 
> Many thanks to MistressPandora who helped me find a way to trim it and checked for errors along the way, any remaining are all mine.
> 
> @~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@

**Chapter 5**

It was nearly thirty miles from the Dundas country estate to Stirling, a manageable distance in the summer when the days were long. Jamie’s local knowledge ensured their route kept them away from the main roads, avoiding as many settlements as possible, including Falkirk. They were polite to fellow travellers they encountered who were heading towards Edinburgh and did nothing to draw attention to themselves, even if Jamie could see that John was itching to dig his heels in and urge Kaphero to gallop across the open ground between hamlets. He sympathised and occasionally gave way and agreed to a brisk canter, which his black stallion, Mac Dubh, enjoyed immensely, his mane flying as he raced John’s mount across areas of open grassland, startling the grazing cattle and sheep. In other circumstances, Jamie would have enjoyed riding with John.

As far as the weather was concerned, they were fortunate as the rain held off until late afternoon. They had then been forced to seek shelter in a small copse of beech trees. Luckily, the dense canopy had kept them dry and the break provided them with a chance to relieve themselves and allow the horses to drink from a small stream. Whilst waiting for the rain to let up, they had shared a hunk of cheese and some bread – Jamie insisting that John eat, even though he claimed he had no appetite. He should have let him go hungry but there was something about the damn man that made Jamie care for his welfare.

Although, it was obvious that the pace seemed infuriatingly slow to John, the agreed plan was to get as far as Stirling and no further on the first day. There they would make enquiries and stay overnight, before forging on the next day into the Highlands. The closer they got to Stirling, the sparser became their conversation. It was as if the gathering clouds and rain showers had cast a gloom over them both, causing them to pull up their collars and duck their heads down, becoming lost in their own thoughts and fears.

Glancing across at John, seeing the way he had his head bent, muttering words under his breath, Jamie could almost have believed the man was praying. Then he caught the words and nodded to himself. He was.

_Papa is coming to get you. Don’t be scared – stay brave. Please keep him safe._

For some unfathomable reason, that made Jamie smile – he had assumed John was Godless, but perhaps there was hope for his soul after all.

Jamie added his prayers for William’s safety to those of John.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they arrived at the outskirts of Stirling, the clouds had broken up enough to let the sun shine through, just as it started to sink towards the horizon. It was not long after seven o’clock and there were still at least two more hours of weak daylight left. Plenty of time, insisted Jamie, for them to seek lodgings, to go off separately to gather information, and then get a good night’s sleep.

“Sruighlea – the gateway to the Highlands,” stated Jamie, referring to the Gaelic name for the fortress town. Trying to lift John’s spirits, he reiterated what he had already stated several times. “If they’re travelling towards the Highlands in a carriage, they’ll have to pass through here – if they’ve crossed over the bridge, someone will have seen them.”

“I do hope so,” responded John. “I will sleep easier knowing that we are not pursuing a wild goose hunt.”

“From what ye’ve told me, they canna be more than five days ahead of us and that’s only if they rode as fast as ye did on yer way to Edinburgh,” reckoned Jamie, glancing at John and seeing the way he was worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Probably no more than three days ahead by now, especially with the roads as they’ve been for carriages. The rain will ha’ made them thick wi’ mud.”

“That’s a good point – well made,” conceded John, having seen for himself the state of the country roads between Helwater and the main military roads.

They approached a large round archway to their left. Beyond it a square tower stood tall amongst the ruins of what had once been a church and a graveyard. The low sun cast a long shadow from the tower and as it fell across them, causing the air to become noticeably cooler, as if a they had moved into night. Jamie pulled Mac Dubh to a halt as he drew level with the archway and gestured at the ruins beyond.

“St. Ninians kirk, or what’s left of it,” said Jamie, his voice hushed. He sighed as it occurred to him that there were reminders everywhere of the Jacobite risings. It saddened him to think of a holy place being desecrated in such a way, but there were many decisions made by the Prince and his advisers that galled him. “Munitions were stashed away there. When Charles Stuart’s forces retreated, it was blown up. All that’s left is the tower.”

John took a moment to stare at the crumbling ruins as both men contemplated the waste that war wrought on everything it touched. He looked across at Jamie and wondered how their friendship had managed to develop in the first place, considering their history on opposing sides in that bloody war. There were times when he could not understand how Jamie could stand to be associated with him.

“So much destruction. Was it worth it?” asked John out loud, shaking his head. 

“There was no way to stop it. Believe me, I tried,” came Jamie’s muttered response.

Making the sign of the cross, Jamie ducked his head and then turned his horse away from what would be just one of many physical reminders of that disastrous campaign.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they neared the settlement of Stirling, the castle perched on its craggy outcrop came into view first. Foreboding and solemn, it dominated the skyline.

“It is said that whoever holds Stirling Castle holds Scotland,” stated John. As an officer he had been made aware that Stirling’s strategic position had justified both its heavy fortifications and the number of men stationed there at the expense of other forts.

“Aye, and the Prince tried his best. If only-” Jamie shook his head as he recalled the failed attempt by the Jacobite army to take the castle, which had remained under English control. “God rest the souls of all those whose lives were sacrificed for one man’s vanity.”

The sombre mood held them in its thrall as they rode into Stirling. They deliberately rode past the new coaching inn that sat back from the road and headed into the town and off onto a side street where Jamie knew of a small tavern with a few rooms for travellers. He was well acquainted with Angus, the landlord of the Castle Inn, having supplied him with barrels of fine French brandy at a very reasonable cost. Jamie suspected that the man sold them on at a profit to the larger, busier coaching inns, but that did not bother him; it paid to have a safe bolt hole, where his presence would be remain undisclosed.

Jamie did the talking, not wanting to reveal John’s nationality. Even though he did trust Angus, he knew how the locals felt about the English. He just referred to John as a colleague, a dealer in wines and spirits. The landlord had nodded sagely and tapped his nose with a crooked finger, taking their business to be involved with the smuggling of liquor and therefore guaranteeing his discretion. He handed over a key, understanding that Jamie required privacy and security before accompanying them to the room in person, pointing out the raised ground to the rear, which would allow the occupants to leave via the window should a speedy departure be required. They had previously left their horses in the care of the landlord’s son who – for an extra few coins – assured Jamie that they would be saddled at a moment’s notice should he have cause to leave in a hurry.

Looking around the room and finding it perfectly acceptable, Jamie shook the landlord’s hand.

“Thank ye, Angus, much appreciated.”

John took his hat off and bowed stiffly, refraining from saying a word, following Jamie’s strict instructions.

As soon as the door shut, they placed their saddle bags on the table next to the window.

“Is there anywhere you stay that is not associated with criminal activity of one manner or another?” asked John, his eyebrows raised. “Prostitution and now smuggling. Whatever next?”

The irony was not lost on Jamie that his illegal activities were acting as a cover for his journey north. On the road from Dundas, Jamie had told John about his trade in spirits and fine wines, but he decided to keep his other business, of printing seditious texts, a secret. It would only be putting John in an impossible situation if he were to be informed of such treasonous crimes.

“We can take it in turns,” suggested John, noting the way that Jamie was frowning at the solitary bed. “The chairs do not look too uncomfortable. Or there’s always the floor, the hearth rug looks … adequate. Either would suit me well enough. Better than the bottom of a ditch.”

Taking hold of the back of one of the two wooden armchairs and tested it for strength, John bit his lip as it creaked loudly, indicating a structural weakness.

“Nae – that’ll be no’ good fer yer back if ye tried to sleep in one of them,” argued Jamie, glancing surreptitiously at the bed, which was easily big enough for two. Then he recalled the morning incident. “Ye should ha’ the bed, John.”

John sighed as he hung up his cloak on a bent nail hammered into the back of the door. Trying to give Jamie time to think, he took the tinderbox from his saddle bag and crouched down to light the fire that was laid in the fireplace. Although it was June, the room was dank and cold, so it made sense to have warmth whilst they could.

“You can either agree that we can take it in turns, or we sleep together,” announced John, having given Jamie time enough to ponder the issue. “The choice is yours. However, for what it is worth, I hope that you can trust me not to act improperly. After all, it was not my hand or any other part of my anatomy that was wandering this morning.”

“Of course I trust ye!” exclaimed Jamie, surprising himself, but accepting it as truth. “It’s just-”

“Well then,” interrupted John, before Jamie had the chance to come up with a valid excuse. “That’s settled.”

Jamie scowled as it came to him, that despite everything that had ever been said between them, it was not John who he did not trust, but _himself_. He also thought it wise not to mention that it was _John’s_ firm arse that had been pressed into _his_ crotch, thinking that it would not do to reignite that discussion. 

A knock at the door saved both men from further awkwardness. Opening it revealed a young girl holding a large ewer of hot water, courtesy of the landlord. Taking it from her to place next to a chipped basin on the washstand, Jamie asked John if he would like to use the water first. Then, not waiting for an answer, Jamie slipped out of the room, following the girl and muttering something about fetching them something to eat.

As he stripped out of his clothing to wash off the dust from the road, John smiled to himself. It was blatantly obvious that Jamie felt uncomfortable sharing the room with him, but not in the resentful way that it had been in the past, such as when they had journeyed to Ireland together with Tom Byrd and that dreadful Irishman, Quinn, who’d wanted him dead. The awkwardness brought to mind how he had been the first time he had spent the night in another man’s bed. Ignoring the fact that the incident that morning had been involuntary and not a conscious act of Jamie’s, the fact that it had occurred at all suggested that Jamie’s body was more than willing to set aside any moral reservations. John laughed off his foolish conjecture and put it down to the fancies of a man whose only satisfaction had been at his own hand for too many long and lonely months. He idly wondered what his chances would be of persuading Jamie to exchange a favour, before dismissing that traitorous thought as a suggestion that might lead to him losing a hand. However, the images generated did stay in his mind as his eyes strayed towards the two pillows, side by side on the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Knocking on the door before entering, Jamie returned with a tray bearing two bowls of mutton stew and a flagon of ale and two tankards. He could see that John had freshened himself up and was carefully adding a log to the fire he had lit. Jamie was glad to see that John looked a lot more like his old self, albeit dressed in just his shirt, waistcoat and breeches.

“Mutton stew and tatties.” Jamie announced as he set the tray down on the table. “Not up to yer fancy tastes I’m sure, but hearty enough. There was nae wine to be had – but the ale is good.”

“Splendid.” Ever polite, John had been on enough campaigns to appreciate simple but homely fare. He valued it as highly as the exquisite dishes served in the dining rooms of ambassadors and army officers. “That looks as fine a meal as any I have eaten at the Beefsteak.”

As they ate, they discussed the general plan that John would carry out his investigations at those establishments frequented by the soldiers and other English travellers, whilst Jamie did a tour of the taverns used by the locals who would not step foot in any inn where the occupying forces drank.

John tentatively suggested that he pay a visit to the garrison itself, but Jamie expressed concern, thinking it was too risky. However, John had seemed keen, doubting that word would have spread to Stirling of his desertion and even if it had, he argued that he was not going to use his own name.

“I don’t think ye should go anywhere near the castle,” stated Jamie resolutely, making it clear from his expression that he thought it was a foolhardy scheme. “It would only take one man to recognise you -”

“If I’m not back by bedtime, my dear,” pouted John, rolling his eyes. “I shall rely on you to achieve what the Pretender failed and storm the castle to rescue me.”

“John!” growled Jamie, unimpressed with John’s sarcasm. However, he was already thinking of ways of getting into the castle, wondering if he could scale the cliffs under cover of darkness without breaking his neck.

“I have no intention of being that careless,” sighed John. “I was planning to go in under the guise of an acquaintance of my brother’s. Graham Johnson - lawyer. Although perhaps now, wine trader would be better?”

“Aye – may as well stick to one false identity, less chance of getting caught out,” agreed Jamie. “But what if somebody does recognise ye? Even with that scruff on yer chin?”

“I run?” suggested John facetiously. Seeing the way that Jamie was clenching his jaw, he decided to clarify his statement: “Bloody fast?”

“Dear God, man, are ye that desperate to get arrested?” Jamie jabbed a finger in John’s chest to emphasise the point. “How can ye rescue our lad if ye’re locked up?”

“Very well, I concede. If you think it is too foolhardy, it probably is. I shan’t call in at the garrison itself,” agreed John, pinching the skin at the bridge of his nose as he was forced to take on board Jamie’s valid concerns. “But there is a tavern just outside the walls. I recall it being popular with the men who were stationed there. If I am not mistaken, Sergeant Quarry said they served a fine venison stew.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes as he let John pontificate, realising that they had that in common – a reluctance to concede that a suggested plan was too reckless.

“Aye, that sounds a better plan.” Jamie nodded his head. “Maybe I’ll start there first as well. I can sit in a corner – just in case ye run into any trouble.”

“There’s really no need-” John started to protest, only to be cut off by a stern glare from Jamie.

“Let me be the judge o’ that!” Jamie slammed his hand down on the table, causing the stacked bowls to clatter. “It will be easier to rescue ye from a tavern than a gaol should ye get yerself arrested!”

John pushed back his chair as he leapt to his feet to confront Jamie.

“May I remind you, sir, that I have spent my whole military career in constant danger of assault, arrest or a death sentence – all by the very men I have fought alongside!” spat John angrily. He was furious that Jamie considered him so pathetic that he needed chaperoning. He wondered if Jamie thought of him as a damsel in distress due to his preference for male company. “Do you think I have survived all these years due to chance alone? I’ll have you know I can take care of myself in a fight-”

John paused as he saw Jamie looking shocked, his mouth falling open in surprise. Surely he accepted the fact that John could fight – he had watched him in that damn duel after all.

“You have seen me fight-“

“Nae, no’ that, John, I ken ye can wield a blade with good effect. It’s just that… dear God, John. I never stopped to think that ye’d have been defending yerself from yer own side as well as from the men ye fought against.” Jamie paused and shook his head. “All these years.”

Having been in hiding and on the run from the English forces enough times to know peril, Jamie had never stopped to consider that John had been equally at risk from his own men as any opposing forces he faced on the battlefield. He had seen John command loyalty, yet had not stopped to consider what it had cost him in terms of hiding his true self.

“Yes. All those years,” scoffed John. “And I did such a good job avoiding the noose myself whilst sending a man whose bed I had shared to prison.”

“Yer step brother? Aye, but ye did get him to safety, did ye no’?”

“Yes, although my dear brother had another – more permanent – solution. Hal sent me to visit Percy in gaol. I was given a pistol for him. He wanted me to persuade Percy to take his own life. To spare the honour of the family and regiment.” John paused, his lips pressed close together as he recalled that time when he had hated Hal with every fibre of his being. “I often wonder if he would do me the same courtesy should I ever be incarcerated. The only conclusion I ever come to is that he would, although I suspect he would not trust me to pull the trigger.”

“Christ, John. Yer own brother?” exclaimed Jamie, horrified at the implication that John believed his own brother would execute him. “He may be kin – but he’s a fucking bastard.”

“And there we find something upon which we can agree – wholeheartedly.” John held out a hand and was pleased when Jamie reached across the table and grasped it firmly.

“John – ye have my word,” stated Jamie, solemnly. “Should ye ever be arrested – for any reason, ye need not rely on yer brother. I shall rescue ye.”

In the light of the fire, Jamie thought he caught sight of a single tear tracking down John’s face.

“What a state of affairs, when I would find my life so much more secure in the hands of a Jacobite sympathiser than my own dear brother.” John raised his free hand to brush away the tears that were collecting on his lashes before they fell. “Thank you, Jamie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the same in every tavern that Jamie had entered, an awkward silence as he took a seat and ordered a drink, followed by hushed voices – all speaking Gaelic. He made sure not to appear to be following any of the discussions, although he did nod his head when an anti-English sentiment was loudly voiced. It was of no surprise to him that the occupying forces were not popular and that those whose livelihoods depended on the garrison held strong resentments for the English army’s presence.

It was in the last tavern that he visited that his eavesdropping gave him most cause for concern – sufficient to have him almost choke on his whisky. It transpired that the locals supplemented their meagre incomes by robbing rich travellers that passed through. Spies in the coaching inns identified potential victims that would then be picked off as they left the inns after drinking their fill.

Then he heard whispered discussions of the latest mark - a wealthy looking Englishman who had been seen that very evening in both of the coaching inns and the tavern next to the garrison.

_Shit._

A further description of the man was circulated – tall and dark-haired, talking and laughing with the officers, buying rounds of brandy.

_Damn – it had to be John._

Jamie leaned back in his seat, and taking a swig of whisky from his glass, he looked up to see a group of half a dozen men detach themselves from a larger gathering. He spotted one of them stash a wooden cudgel inside a coarse hessian sack. The six men slipped out of the back door, one by one. He knew that he could not possibly leave at the same time, not without alerting suspicion, but he had to move fast. Narrowing his eyes as he considered his options, he drained his glass and then staggered to his feet, smiling crookedly at the lass who promptly came to ask if he wanted another.

“Nae thank ye, lass,” Jamie slurred and slapped her backside as he swayed on his feet. “I think I’ve had enough – _hic_ \- for the night.”

Weaving his way around the tables of the other patrons, he bid farewell and then lurched out onto the street. After stumbling into a nearby alley as if to throw up, Jamie snapped to alertness once shrouded in darkness and listened to ascertain whether or not he was being followed. An uproarious peal of laughter could be heard from the tavern he had just vacated, only to be cut off as the door was shut. Apparently, someone had looked out to see where he had gone and were satisfied that he was not going to alert the English troops.

He sprinted down the alley, clambered over a stile and ran along a boundary wall, heading for the inn that was to be John’s last port of call. He hoped he could head John off in time before he had his brains dashed out by the group of louts that were ahead of him.

The inn was close to the sentry post at the far end of Stirling, just before the bridge over the Forth. As he ducked under a beam to enter the inn, Jamie scanned the smoky room for any sign of John. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw him at a table near the rear, deep in conversation with a group of redcoats. Although they had both agreed that John’s bearing as an officer would encourage the soldiers to talk more openly to him, Jamie still worried for him. It was risky. He could so easily have been carted off as a deserter and there was also the danger that they would not bother with transporting John all the way back to London and would, in all probability, summarily execute him on the spot. 

If it was not enough that he had to worry about John getting himself arrested, there was the added issue that he had acquired a target on his back courtesy of a group of drunken Scotsmen. He could imagine them lurking outside waiting to assault John as soon as he left the cosy confines of the drinking establishment. To add to his frustrations, Jamie could not wander across and warn him, not while he was loudly regaling the soldiers with tales of his experiences whilst in Prussia. He had no choice but to take a seat and wait until John left, then accompany him back to their lodgings.

Jamie was relieved when John finally got up to take his leave – that was until he saw him head for the courtyard at the back of the building. He swore under his breath. Unlike most travellers, John was not going to hand over his valuables without a fight.

 _Damn_.

Although it had never been his intention to follow John -- and he realised the man would be indignant that he could look after himself-- John would not have been expecting to take on a violent mob.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself by rushing past the group of soldiers, Jamie went out of the front of the tavern and skirted around until he made his way to the courtyard at the back.

He knew the locals were limited in the arms they were allowed to bear, and that John was armed to the teeth, but desperate men take desperate actions and he was still afraid on John’s behalf.

Stealthily walking in the shadows, Jamie heard sounds that only confirmed his fears. A group of three burly men had dragged John across the yard towards a large stone water trough. The tallest of them had one of John’s arms twisted behind his back and there were two others forcing his head into the water and holding him under. John was struggling – but his sword had already been taken from him and was being used to prod at him.

A quick scan of the area to locate the other three men revealed one clutching his guts that were spouting blood, whilst another was trying to get him to stand up and a third was nursing a bloodied nose.

 _Shit_!

“Whoa! Lads – de ye no’ ken who ye have there? It’s the Earl of Melton himself – if ye kill him, there’ll be a price on yer heads and yer families will suffer!”

“What’s it tae ye?” grumbled the man holding John’s arm back.

“He’s mine!” spat Jamie, with as much venom as he could muster. “I have reason tae want this man dead – but on my terms, in a fair fight, no’ stabbed in the back in an alley or drowned in a water trough.”

Jamie was momentarily distracted by the sound of bubbles breaking the surface of the water.

_Christ! If he did not persuade these men to leave, John was going to drown._

“Quick! Let me take him from here – afore ye have the King’s regiment come down on the whole damn town! If ye’ve killed him, they’ll string ye all up afore dawn and burn down yer houses!”

Jamie roughly shoved the men out of his way, grabbed hold of a fistful of wet hair and dragged John’s head from the water, glad to note the sharp intake of breath indicating that at least he had not been drowned already. Taking his dirk from its scabbard, Jamie held it to John’s throat.

“A mhic an diabhoil!” Jamie spat in John’s face, as he accused him of being the son of the devil. “Ye’re my prisoner now, dinna say a damn word, ye bastard! Bi samhach!”

John could not have said anything even if he had tried, he was too busy gasping for air. Choking as he coughed up the foul water and spat it out, John struggled in Jamie’s arms, making it appear that he was trying to escape, but not enough to break free.

The edge of the blade was starting to bite into the skin under John’s chin and he was beginning to panic – wondering if Jamie had changed his mind, or had just forgotten who he was. He could smell whisky on Jamie’s breath and wondered how much he had got through and was it enough to affect his judgment – such as the difference between scraping his skin and slitting his throat. John then felt Jamie’s hand loosen in his hair and briefly stroke the back of his head, which he interpreted as a signal to play along with whatever happened. It was not as if he had much a choice in the matter.

“Drop that!” yelled Jamie at the man holding John’s sword. “If they find that on any of ye, they’ll arrest ye. It’s obviously nae the sort o’ weapon a Scot would keep about the house. I’ll look after it.”

“How do we know we can trust ye no’ to turn us in?” demanded the man who appeared to be the leader of the motley group, shifting John’s sabre from one hand to the other as if wondering if he take on the tall, red-headed Scot who was baring his teeth at them.

“I fought alongside the Prince at Culloden – did any of ye?” Jamie stared at each man in turn, able to tell that they were all too young to have been at the battle in 1746. “I didnae think so. Ye can trust me that I ha’ history wi’ this bastard – Major, my arse! I was once his prisoner. I swear to ye that I’ll no’ say anything about this night – and neither will ye, if ye ken what’s good for ye.”

The truth of Jamie’s words stung the men that were looking at him warily. He looked just as likely to slit their throats as to kill the fancy Englishman.

Reluctantly, the leader of the group threw John’s sabre to one side.

“Take yer argument away from here, will ye?” the man asked Jamie, not wanting to be implicated in any act of revenge to an officer of the King’s Army.

“Here!” Jamie reached into John’s coat and fetched out one of the smaller money bags and tossed it to the waiting men. “Take this and run! I’ll deal with this bastard and make sure he disappears wi’ out trace.” 

Grabbing hold of the bag heavy with coins, the men looked to one another and after collecting their injured friends, ran off into the night.

As soon as Jamie was convinced that they had gone and were not loitering, he moved his blade away from John’s neck and let go of his hair. John fell back into Jamie’s arms, before pushing himself forward as another coughing fit struck him.

“Fer Christ’s sake, what the hell d’ye think ye were doing?” Jamie hissed at John.

John spluttered as he coughed up more of the foul water, spewing it out onto the trampled earth around the water trough. He then raised an arm and clutched hold of Jamie’s shoulder, needing to lean on him.

“What was I doing? If you must know, I came outside to take a piss.” John rolled his eyes heavenward, awaiting a lecture from Jamie on the need to be on guard at all times, especially when unfastening one’s breeches in a darkened courtyard.

“I dinna believe it,” chastised Jamie, shaking his head in disbelief. “I warned ye about staying alert. I would say something about keeping it in yer breeches, but I doubt ye’d be amused.”

Turning his head to glare at Jamie and seeing the corners of the man’s mouth twitching with amusement, John could not help but agree. He was not amused.

“Come on, John, at least ye should be thanking me fer coming to yer rescue.”

“I suppose I should be grateful. Although dragging me out of a water trough was not quite as dramatic as storming a castle would have been,” sighed John. “Although most tales of dashing knights do not involve the hero abusing the damsels quite so brutally. You pulled my hair and held a knife to my throat!”

“Aye, weel – ye’re no damsel and I’m no’ one of yer simpering English knights,” declared Jamie, before giving into the temptation to tease John. “Do ye no’ like it rough, John?”

“I shall attribute that inquiry to the whisky I can smell on your breath and not grace it with a response,” stated John as he stooped down to pick up his sabre and return it to its scabbard.

“Weel – I think ye’ve also had enough tae drink fer one night,” stated Jamie, as he fished a soggy tricorn hat from the trough and handed it to John. “It’s time ye were off the streets fer yer own safety.”

“I shall not argue with that sentiment,” replied John, nodding enthusiastically. “Which way to avoid your friends?”

“This way is best.” Jamie pointed in the direction of the track that ran along the back of the buildings. “Down there.”

“So, did you find out anything in the taverns,” asked John, quietly as he negotiated the uneven track. “Apart from plots to rob Englishmen?””

“Nae – no’ a thing. What about ye?” asked Jamie in reply. “Afore ye decided tae have a bath?”

“As we expected, there have been many coaches passing through in the past week – some of them from York and other cities in England. Very few private carriages though, and of those even fewer that seemed to be carrying both women and children. The last one to pass through with a child was three days ago. The paperwork of all the passengers seemed to be in order. One of whom was a woman who spoke Gaelic until they insisted she respond in English. She was holding onto a child who was asleep.”

“William?” asked Jamie, anxiously.

“I think so from the description. I showed the man the portrait I carry and he thought him similar. William does tend to fall asleep on long coach rides, he gets bored easily.” John paused to compose himself. He had become melancholy at thoughts of William’s tantrums at being forced to ride inside the carriage and not being allowed to sit up with the coachman. He had hated being kept inside and unable to see the countryside rushing past. “But I would have thought that he would have been awoken by the soldiers.”

“Perhaps that damn bitch gave him a sleeping draught?” suggested Jamie.

“If she has, she’ll have me to answer to when we catch up with her-”

“Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once back in their room, John set aside his wet coat and pulled a chair across so that he could sit in front of the fire. He added another log to the smouldering embers and added a few more bits of kindling to encourage it to burn.

“Are ye alright there?” asked Jamie, before bringing the other chair around to join John. He pulled a flask from his cloak and opened it to offer to John. “Can I offer ye a wee dram maybe? Something to take the chill off.”

“Thank you, I shall.” John took a sip and finding it to be a very agreeable brandy, took a further drink before handing the flask back to Jamie.

Jamie took a drink and then asked John again if he was alright.

“Yes. As I told you, I would have been perfectly alright –”

“Humph!” scoffed Jamie, cutting John off. “Maybe ye’ve learnt how to breathe underwater since we last met.”

John chuckled to himself as he unbuttoned his waistcoat.

“Surprisingly enough – I did have cause to discover just how long I could stay underwater without dying.” John paused as he hung the waistcoat on the back of the chair and then pulled his shirt off over his head. “In fact, I had to hold my breath until my lungs were fit to burst. It was in a filthy ditch in Prussia. Wearing full uniform which took on a lot more water than what I was wearing this evening.”

Giving John an inscrutable look, Jamie just shook his head in despair.

“Did they hurt ye?” asked Jamie, frowning as he caught sight of the new bruising developing on John’s arms and back as he set aside his shirt. Idly he wondered at what time he had become so familiar with the marks on John’s skin that he could identify new scars and injuries so quickly.

“Not much.” John shrugged, untying his hair so that he could rub it dry with one of the linen towels hung over the end of the washstand. “My dignity was damaged more than anything else I suspect.”

“Ye’re no’ getting into bed smelling like that,” commented Jamie, wrinkling his nose as he leant over to take a sniff of John’s hair.

“It’s alright,” replied John, trying to seem nonchalant. “I’ll sleep on the rug if you let me have one of the blankets.”

“Nae – you can use some of that oil on it and ye’ll smell sweet as a rose.”

“I meant to ask why you packed that,” said John, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Jamie.

Jamie just shrugged as got to his feet and began to rummage around in John’s saddle bags looking for the small, corked bottle and the comb.

“Wee Tom Byrd,” admitted Jamie, as he handed over the oil and the comb to John. “He always combed that stuff into yer hair. I asked him why and he said to suffocate the nits and lice so he could comb them out. He gave me some and I tried it back at the stables and it proved verra effective.”

John decided to accept Jamie’s explanation although he knew of many other uses for a bottle of scented oil. He smiled as he took the bottle and sprinkled a few drops of oil onto the comb before tugging it through his damp hair.

“Wee Byrd said that he never knew where ye would end up laying yer head,” continued Jamie. “So he wanted to make sure ye did no’ bring any passengers into yer home wi’ ye.”

“As long as he didn’t discuss my laundry with you,” muttered John to himself.

“Why would that be?” inquired Jamie, after taking another sip from his flask.

“Don’t ask,” John rolled his eyes. A conversation with Tom concerning stains in breeches was one he did not want to revisit with anyone, least of all Jamie Fraser. He had already said more than he had intended. “He knows enough about me to destroy my reputation ten times over.”

“Do ye never think that ye should avoid getting into situations that require the wee man having to protect yer reputation?”

“Only if I were to condemn myself to a life of celibacy and loneliness. And I am far too weak to submit myself to that willingly.” John sighed sadly. “It has been imposed on me by my family – well Hal really – enough times already.”

“Ardsmuir?” asked Jamie, although he already knew that John’s appointment as governor at the godforsaken gaol was as much a punishment to him as it had been to the prisoners there. “I once did ask ye what it was ye’d done to be sent there and ye never did answer.”

John considered how much to confide in Jamie. The warmth of the brandy and the glow from the fire coaxed truths to his lips, as did the closeness of the man, who had also stripped down to his shirt and breeches, somehow without John having noticed.

“His name was George Everett. The details are inconsequential. But, if I am to be honest with myself, Hal was right about him.” John turned to look Jamie in the eyes as he ran a fingertip along a thin white line down the side of his neck. “I bear this scar from him.”

Jamie took in a sharp intake of breath, seeing how close the blade must have come to killing John. He reached out and touched the scar, not far from the scratch he had left there earlier that evening, and felt the pulse quicken in John’s throat.

“Where is he now?” asked Jamie, keeping his voice level, even whilst plotting how to exact vengeance.

“Dead. He literally fell on Harry Quarry’s sword.” John shuddered as he recalled how his former lover had confessed to murder and then announced that he too would have to die, in order to keep George’s secret safe. “Everett was about to kill me – I had nothing at hand with which to defend myself but a broken wine glass.”

Jamie glowered, although he had an explanation for one new scar, it only made him wonder how many other lives John Grey had lost already and how many he had left. He grudgingly muttered a quick prayer of thanks to Harry Quarry, the bastard, for saving John’s life on that occasion.

“Ye’ve a talent for attracting death, d’ye no’?” Jamie frowned. “I fear fer your soul, John.”

“Death follows me,” sighed John, his face crestfallen. “I do not seek it out.”

“That makes two of us then,” stated Jamie as he gazed into the flickering flames and then looked back up at John, whose face had softened once more. “Shall we agree to try to keep ahead of it then? I’ll look over yer shoulder and ye can look over mine. At least until we’ve rescued our wee lad?”

“I shall drink to that,” said John with a smile as he took one last sip of brandy before returning the flask to Jamie. “It would be quite the tragedy were William to lose both his fathers due to carelessness.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they settled down to sleep, the day soon caught up with both men, along with the alcohol they had each consumed. As they slept, they turned towards one another, John rolled over at one point and ended up cradled in Jamie’s outstretched arm and Jamie curled his other arm around the warm body close to his side. In sleep their bodies could seek the solace each man’s soul yearned for but dare not ask when they were awake.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6_ **

Vibrations in his ear roused John from his brandy-induced slumbers. His senses were still rather befuddled from the alcohol and he wondered if the sounds were coming from inside his head. As he concentrated harder, he discovered the source was a grumbling noise from under his head. Opening his eyes, bleary with sleep, he found himself, for the second morning in a row, in the arms of Jamie Fraser. This time though, his head was upon Jamie’s chest. The vibrations were being caused by Jamie muttering in his sleep.

Squinting in the early morning light, John could see the tendons in Jamie’s neck become taut as he started to toss his head from side to side. As Jamie did so, the mutterings became more coherent, as he himself became increasingly agitated.

“Nae, dinna take him!” Jamie called out desperately, as he clutched John closer to his chest, one hand coming up to cradle his head protectively. “Dinna touch him again, or I swear I shall kill ye! Take me instead o’ him!”

Determining that he was witnessing the effects of an unpleasant dream concerning the fate of their son, John slowly pushed away from Jamie’s body so that he could wriggle an arm free in order to take hold of his shoulder, gently stilling his movements.

“Wake up, Jamie.” John spoke quietly and calmly, coaxing Jamie to wakefulness. “You are just dreaming, it is not real. Please wake up. Wake up, my dear man, please.”

Thinking that he should put a little more distance between their half naked bodies before Jamie regained wakefulness, John tried to made a more determined effort to completely extricate himself from Jamie’s arms. However, this was thwarted when John suddenly found himself crushed even closer to the man’s body as Jamie began to rock him, kissing his head as words spilled from his lips:

“Mo leannan, I’ll no’ let them hurt ye again. I swear to God, they’ll no’ take ye from me.”

“Hush there, we shall get him back. We will rescue William.” John spoke calmly, yet loud enough that he hoped Jamie would hear him. “They shall return him to you, safe and sound, even if I have to kill them with my bare hands to make it so.”

It appeared that Jamie thought that it was his son he cradled in his arms, protecting him from harm. John felt an urgent need to correct Jamie, the last thing he wanted was for his friend to awaken and to find that it was not his son in his arms at all, but the man in whose care he had entrusted the boy.

Frowning in his semi-awake state, Jamie could hear words of reassurance filtering through – calming words, telling him that all would be well. He relaxed as the kindly voice seemed to allay his fears. He knew instinctively that he could trust the voice. 

Snuffling slightly as the dust he had disturbed from the pillows tickled his nose, Jamie loosened the hold on the person he was clutching tight so that he could rub his nose. As he did so, he sensed the body move aside, shifting carefully, slowly starting to disengage itself from his embrace.

“That’s good, just let go now,” coaxed the voice. “It was just a dream.”

Jamie felt fingers caressing his face, sweeping away the sweat-drenched curls that were stuck to his forehead. Opening his eyes completely, Jamie turned his head to see a concerned pair of blue eyes gazing at him.

“John?” sighed Jamie. _Thank God, ye’re safe._

“Good – you’re awake.” _Thank God you know who is in your arms_ , thought John not knowing quite how best to proceed. “You appeared to be having a bad dream. I could not wake you.”

“Aye, that’s right. It’s fading now.” Jamie frowned, as he desperately tried to hang on to the fragments he could recall. He had a feeling that it was important not to forget what he had been shown. “The kidnappers – “

“They were holding William, yes?” prompted John, knowing from personal experience that bringing a bad dream into the open could help break its spell and allow a person to return to sleep more easily. “You were offering yourself in exchange.”

“Aye, that must’ve been it… If that’s what ye heard…” muttered Jamie, although that interpretation did not tally with the images that lingered at the edges of his mind. “Aye. Yes, that must have been…”

He was aware of cooler air on his chest as he felt John pulling away from his side, carefully removing an arm from around his waist and sliding his ankle free from where it had been trapped under Jamie’s leg. The sheets and blankets had fallen from the bed and John was tugging them back into place, tucking them around them both.

Despite the reassurance that it had only been a dream, there was still something bothering Jamie. He felt as if someone had walked on his grave – he could almost feel icy fingers creeping up his spine. Jamie scrubbed a hand over his eyes. A vestige from his nightmare reappeared beneath his eyelids and he could see immediately that the loved one he had been so desperate to protect in his dream had not been William at all. It had been John.

Shutting his eyes firmly, willing back the fading remnants of the dream, he could see a stone circle, lit by moonlight and lanterns. There were translucent figures dancing, weaving their way amongst the stones, singing a siren song. Spinning around slowly, mesmerised by the voices, the tallest stone came into view and John was there, crumpled at the base of it. He was hurt! John was clutching a hand to his side and blood was seeping between his fingers. He was calling out to Jamie, pleading with him to go, to take William and leave. It had been John that was being dragged away from him. John that he had been reaching out for – who he was fighting to save. Not William.

Swallowing bitter bile that rose up in his throat, Jamie shuddered and opened his eyes again. The worried face staring at him was John’s, he was holding a hand to Jamie’s brow as if to detect whether or not he was feverish. Jamie automatically grabbed hold of John’s hand, needing to reassure himself that he was still there and unharmed.

“We will get him back, Jamie. I swear to you, you shall hold your son again,” soothed John, interpreting the full body shudder as the expression of fears for the safety of William. “As for the nightmares – I would attribute those to an excess of bad whisky. You’ll feel better in the fresh air once we are on the road again.”

“Aye, ye’re probably right – I’d ha’ been better drinking the fine brandy you were treating yerself to,” mumbled Jamie. But the fogginess in his head and the sour taste in his mouth could not be put down solely to the whisky he had imbibed in the taverns. What he had seen was not just a dream, of that he was certain. It was a portent – a warning of what may come. 

Jamie was distracted from his thoughts by the shuffling around in the bed as John was yet again attempting to put more distance between their bodies, even though he was already on the edge of the mattress.

“Stay where ye were.” Jamie reached out for John, cradling him close once more. “No need to move away.”

“But-” John started to object. A crease in his forehead showed just how confused he was.

“Dinna fash,” said Jamie, trying to reassure John. After his nightmare, he did not want John to move away from him, and far from troubling him, he realised that he enjoyed the proximity and that it felt good to hold John in his arms. “It was not bothering me, ye being sae close. After all, it is warmer sharing body heat and, to be honest wi’ ye, it feels good to hold and to be held. I didna ken how much I missed it. Does it bother ye?”

“No – not at all,” sighed John, relishing the embrace that enveloped him and returning it tentatively. “There is comfort to be had in human contact. It takes away the loneliness.” _For a while_.

Jamie smiled and nodded his head in agreement. He was surprised to realise that the fact that neither of them were wearing anything apart for their crumpled shirts was not bothering him in the least. Impulsively, he dipped his head down to sniff John’s hair, wondering if the scented oil had successfully masked the stench of stagnant water. He was pleased to note that it had, the musky scent with hints of bergamot, bay and almond smelt particularly enticing to him that morning. He could not recall the oil that Tom Byrd had given him ever having smelt so richly exotic on his own hair.

“Ye smell good, fer someone that took a dive into a trough of stinking water,” commented Jamie. “I’m glad I packed that oil fer ye.”

Feeling Jamie’s warm breath on his scalp gave John the courage to bury his nose into Jamie’s shirt, where the opening revealed the russet curls of hair on his chest.

“You smell of whisky and smoky peat fires.” John described what he already recognised as the scent he associated with Jamie Fraser. Sensing no resistance to his potentially risky excursion into intimacy, he took another deep breath, inhaling the comforting aroma of the man he loved. If he were not to be blessed with such a rare opportunity again, he wanted to commit every sensation to memory.

“I ken what I have said in the past, but it feels good to wake up beside ye, John.”

Jamie wondered if the traces of alcohol in his veins were the reason for his willingness to speak his mind so openly, or whether it was the haunting images from his dream. He could not shake off the dread he had felt when he had seen those figures dragging John away from him. The possibility that the dream was an omen portending mortal danger for John terrified him and made him want to hold onto John as close as possible.

“It is not in the least disagreeable from my perspective, as I am sure you can imagine,” said John, trying to keep his voice level and not sound too wistful. “I am glad you feel you can trust me.”

“There was a time when I did feel threatened by yer desires,“ admitted Jamie. “Not just because of the nature of yer inclinations, although that was part of the reason. It was because of what happened to me before we met. But now – now ye make me feel safe. I cannae explain it. But yer voice, calling me out of my dreams, my soul kent it was the safest voice I could hear.”

“You should know by now that I would never take advantage,” said John, before venturing to bring up a thought that had come to mind as he felt Jamie so close, pressing a hardening part of his anatomy into John’s side. “However, if ever … if ever you wanted a particular kind of comfort … of any kind… “

“Damn!” swore Jamie, chuckling to himself. “Ye talking of such matters should have me running fer the hills. But, to be honest wi’ ye, I’m no’ finding the concept quite so abhorrent.”

Jamie was all too familiar with the effect alcohol on loosening morals as well as clothing. He had seen many a man indulge in lustful practices that they would be ashamed of if they were sober. But he was far from intoxicated, just mellow enough to be able to enjoy the feeling of a warm body in his arms. Relaxing into the sensation of John’s arms around his waist was also surprisingly pleasant. He had slept alone for too long.

“Really?” John eventually asked, after having gone over Jamie’s words in his head to make sure there was no other way of interpreting his meaning. However, the longer he had considered what he had heard, the stronger the supporting evidence that was poking into his abdomen.

“Aye,” replied Jamie, warily, wondering what John might suggest in the way of ‘comfort’.

“Let me ask you one question, if I may. If I was not in this bed, or in this room,” started John, pausing just long enough to gently nudge the tip of Jamie’s cock with his elbow. “Would you do something about that?”

“If ye mean would I take it in hand and- “ Jamie narrowed his eyes and shrugged slightly. “Aye, the same as most men would.”

John nodded and then placed a hand on Jamie’s chest, bracing himself to take a step across the line that had clearly been drawn in the sand at Ardsmuir. The line that clearly stated ‘cross this line at your own peril’.

“Well, that’s good. What I was going to suggest is that – well a change of sensation may be achieved if -“

 _Damn_. What made perfect sense in John’s head was not making itself clear in words and he cursed his inability to articulate his ideas to Jamie. It had never been a problem in previous encounters, with other men, making suggestions and requests to allow for mutual carnal satisfaction.

“If?” pressed Jamie, after John had gone quiet for almost a whole minute. He was more curious than anxious to find out what he had in mind.

“If I were to give you a hand and you were to reciprocate…”

Jamie grunted and shut his eyes. He had to bite his tongue to prevent his first reaction making itself known. It had been a blunt rejection. But then his cock had twitched – _traitorous wee beastie_. He cracked open an eye to surreptitiously look at Grey – he too had his eyes closed and was biting his lip, tense as a coiled spring, no doubt waiting for a barrage of abuse or a fist to his face.

Then he saw John rub his eyes and the sight of those long fingers wiping away the sleep from the corners of his eyes had him wondering. They were almost like a woman’s hands, long delicate fingers – yet stronger, he knew that from having taken the man’s hand on a number of occasions. Jamie knew there were callouses on the palms of those hands: from the hilt of a sword and the reins of a horse. He wondered what it would feel like to have one of those hands around his own cock, long fingers flexing where those of his own right hand could not. His considered response was not of revulsion, which he was expecting, but of mild anxiety which was quickly allayed by the increased stirring in his loins. Whatever dreads his conscience and previous history may have stirred up were to be overruled by desire it would seem. _Why else would his body have reached out for John’s the previous day?_

Despite everything he had heard in church, despite his resistance to give into curiosity, never mind temptation, he was only human. After all, the same church also taught that any self-gratification that led to the spilling of seed for pleasure alone and not for the purpose of procreation was a sin. If the teachings of the church were true, then he should be completely blind by now and not just in need of spectacles to read.

“For the love of all that is holy, Jamie, either hit me or swear at me – or push me out of the damn bed!” exclaimed John, bursting with frustration. “But for heaven’s sake do not make me lie here awaiting your verdict any longer.”

“What?” demanded Jamie, as it dawned on him what effects his delayed response would have on John. “No, no – it’s no’ that at all. DInna fash, mo caraidh. It’s no’ what ye think.”

“Alright …” John dared look at Jamie and saw curiosity in his eyes and not revulsion. “So, are you actually considering my suggestion?”

“Aye, I am,” admitted Jamie, nodding his head slowly. “It’s no’ as if its buggery after all.”

“No, not at all,” replied John, his voice faltering. “Definitely not.”

“Or sodomy – ” reasoned Jamie.

“Well, theoretically … “ winced John, as he did not want to spoil the mood by explaining the exact legal definition of the crime. The fact that it referred to any form of sexual act that could not result in a woman falling pregnant should by rights condemn a lot more men and women, not just gentlemen who preferred the company of other gentlemen. He was therefore relieved when he felt Jamie’s shoulders lift under him in a shrug.

“Aye and it’s no’ as if I haven’t had the pleasure of a woman’s hand around my cock,” Jamie paused as he considered some of the many things that Claire had persuaded him to do that he suspected the church would not approve of. “What about ye, John? Do ye want to-“

“Do you think I would have dared suggest it if I had no interest?” muttered John incredulously, wondering how on earth Jamie could possibly ask that question. Then it came to him. Jamie’s offer. “If you recall, I did resist temptation once when you offered me more than your hand.”

Whilst continuing to skirt the issue, both men found themselves shifting position as their bodies appeared to have decided not to wait for their minds to come to a consensus. John squirmed around so that he was on his side and leaning away slightly rather than lying directly on top of Jamie, which allowed Jamie to tug at the hem of his shirt as he attempted to discretely rearrange the position of his stiffening cock that was prodding at the curve of John’s hip.

“Aye, weel,” laughed Jamie as he realised that John was also attempting to hide his body’s reaction to their discussion. “Seems as if our cocks have already decided.”

“Indeed, they have,” John bit out between gritted teeth. “Yours appears most insistent and if mine does not get some attention soon, either yours or mine, I think I may -”

Not waiting for John to complete his sentence, Jamie reached over and easily encompassed John’s prick in one large hand. The effect was instantaneous, ending any articulate conversation and causing John to arch his back, letting loose a groan that sounded sinful.

John then took Jamie in hand, not surprised at the girth of Jamie’s cock, that made even more blood seem to rush into his own tumescence, aroused as it was as the guttural sounds coming from Jamie’s throat.

“Dear God, pinch me so that I know this is not a dream”

Biting his lip as he enjoyed the sensations being coaxed so skilfully from his body by John’s touch, Jamie slipped one hand down to gently squeeze John’s balls, grinning at the reaction he achieved. He was pleasantly surprised at the feeling of John’s cool hand firmly stroking his own cock, not at all what he had expected – gentle, yet strong, commanding in a way that he had instinctively known John would be. He had never had another man’s prick in his own hand, but doing what he would do for himself seemed to be pleasing enough from the way John’s head was thrown back on the pillow and the sounds he was making. Following suit, Jamie stopped thinking and allowed himself to submit to a shared moment of pleasure that pushed aside the fears he had awoken to. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What had occurred between the two men in bed early that morning could have made their onward journey awkward, but it did not. If anything, they were more relaxed and comfortable in each other’s company. No longer wary of unintentional touching or body contact, Jamie was even more tactile, helping John as he attached the bags to his saddle and giving him a leg up to mount Kaphero.

They made their way out of Stirling across the bridge to the north east, each touching their hat as they greeted the soldiers who recognised John from the inn the previous night. As they crossed the bridge, Jamie made a comment about being glad the English army had replaced the arch they had removed during the rising. He explained that although the aim had been to delay the southwards progress of the Jacobites, it had mostly caused an inconvenience to local travellers.

Jamie no longer felt uncomfortable discussing the campaigns that had been over for twenty years – not with John, even though they had fought on opposite sides, they had both been there and knew what it had been like. Both had suffered losses and witnessed the brutality at Culloden, both bearing scars from that time – visible and hidden scars. It was that shared experience that allowed Jamie to talk about the places they rode through, where Highlanders had gathered, such as the Bridge of Allan, where they had barricaded the crossing of the river Allan. Unsurprisingly, John proved to be a sympathetic listener and seemed to Jamie to be looking at the landscape with fresh eyes as they made their way towards Crieff.

When they reached the market town, they split up to acquire supplies and get something to eat. John chose to dine at the largest of the coaching inns where he could make discrete enquiries about William.

Leaving John to buy items from the apothecary on the market square, Jamie paused beneath the infamous gallows and made the sign of the cross, grateful there were no bodies hanging from it. If he had seen plaids hanging from that damn structure he was not sure he would be able to ride past without fetching them down. He then continued uphill towards the Drummond Arms Inn, where Charles Stuart held one of his final councils of war. Jamie had been there, and re-entering the place brought it all back – despite the efforts of Claire and himself, it had all still ended in the loss of so many lives. For naught. 

As he waited for his meal to be served, he raised a glass in memory of those who had stood there with him and whose lives had been lost. Despite his contributions to the circulation of seditious material, printing anti-English sentiments, the news earlier that year from Rome of the death of James Stuart had signalled a nail in the coffin of Jacobite hopes. It had been as Claire had told him. It did not help that the Pope himself refused to recognise Charles as rightful King of England, Scotland, and Ireland.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they met up once more outside the town, Jamie was pleased not only to see that John had avoided being waylaid but also that the canvas knapsack he had given him was bulging with supplies.

“You managed to remember all the things I said we would need?” asked Jamie as he pointed at the bag over John’s shoulder. “Ye found the stores alright?”

“Yes, my dear,” replied John with a smile on his face. He could recall being similarly questioned by Isobel on his return from the village for items she had requested. His face then fell as he thought of her last trip into the village with William. Poor Isobel must be so worried.

“Everything alright?” asked Jamie, sensing something amiss with John. He wondered if he had encountered any anti- English sentiments in Crieff. “Ye should be grateful were there in June and no’ October when they have the cattle fairs. The town is then notorious fer horse thieves and bandits. Ye’d be a prime target.”

“You are not going to let me forget that are you?” John rolled his eyes and accepted the teasing with good humour. “I am surprised you let me out of your sight for fear of me being set upon by ruffians.”

It was then Jamie’s turn to go quiet as the thought had occurred to him, especially after the dreams that had troubled his sleep.

“Just yell out fer help if ye get grabbed by anyone that’s no’ me.” Jamie grinned as he reached out to pat John on the arm as their horses moved close together on a narrow part of the road. “Aye?”

“That all depends on the circumstances, sir. I cannot promise not to yell out were you to grab hold of me, again,” replied John, a cheeky grin on his face.

As they rode on in companionable silence, they both found themselves casting wary eyes at the cloud formations that were gathering height and breadth. Despite it being June, the weather was always unpredictable and the dark clouds rolling down from the hillsides into the valleys presaged a storm brewing.

Beyond Crieff, the plan had been to continue heading northwards. They were following the route of the military road that took advantage of the straight tract carved out of the landscape by the Romans, when they too had tried to tame the Highlands.

The open road provided no shelter at all, as was the case with many a Roman road as the invaders cleared any vegetation that would provide cover for an ambush. The English army maintained their military roads in the same manner and for the same reason. It was both an advantage and a disadvantage to John and Jamie – they could see behind to see if they were being followed, and ahead to see if they were about the encounter company. But the lack of shelter made them vulnerable to the weather.

It became much windier, with strong gusts whipping their cloaks up and around their faces, obscuring their view of the way ahead. Then the rain started – the wind causing it to come at them horizontally, stinging their faces. In the distance they could hear the rumble of thunder echoing amongst the hills.

“It’s nae good, John, there’s a bad storm on the way. We’ll need to head for those woods.” Jamie called out to John, pointing to a line of trees hugging the hillside to their righthand side. “It’s too dangerous to be out in the open.”

“Will we make it in time?” asked John, as he struggled to keep Kaphero from dashing off to seek his own escape from the weather.

“Aye. But we’ll need tae ride fast,” Jamie’s eyes flicked from side to side as he scanned the intervening ground for obstacles. “Follow me and take care.”

Not waiting for a reply, Jamie leaned forward, dug his heels in and spurred Mac Dubh to break into a canter. A quick glance over his shoulder reassured him that John was close behind him.

Shelter did not seem any closer when the rain got heavier, becoming icy cold and then coming down as hailstones, as the storm caught up with them. The horses became more skittish as they were pelted with icy hail and it took all of the horsemanship that the two men possessed to keep their seats and not be thrown from their mounts.

As they eventually got close to the trees the ground became more uneven with rabbit holes pock-marking the ground, making it dangerous to gallop across. Jamie turned to John and yelled at him to pull up and dismount. He was not going to risk either of them breaking a neck if the horses were startled enough to throw them.

Jamie was the first to bring his horse to a stop and then swung his leg over to land neatly, grasping the reins and speaking firmly to Mac Dubh, calming him as much as he could. John had reined in Kaphero and Jamie gestured for him to come closer, he then reached out to take hold of the animal’s bridle allowing John to dismount safely. They were both out of breath and their horses were panting.

Jamie pointed at a gap in the dense hedgerow that skirted the wooded area and took the lead, walking briskly alongside his horse to guide it through the undergrowth and into shelter. As soon as they were out of the open, a loud thunderclap deafened them as a bright zigzag of light appeared to split open the sky to reveal the awful brightness of heaven. They were temporarily blinded and came to an ungainly halt – crashing into one another. Jamie reached out a hand to steady John and did not let go.

“Up ahead,” shouted Jamie, raising his voice to be heard above the almost constant rumbling of thunder. He pointed to a sharp outline amongst the foliage. “See there, it’s a chimney. Probably a croft cottage. We can seek shelter there.”

“Good – this storm is getting worse!” replied John, the leather of the reins biting into the palm of his hand as he held onto it tightly as Kaphero tried to break free.

“Aye. Probably best ye dinna speak if we do find anyone there,” instructed Jamie, pulling John closer to make sure he heard. “There’s a lot o’ bad feeling towards the English around here.”

“Understood.” John nodded his head, water dripping from his hat as he did so. “I hope not so much between us now?”

“Nae, John, no’ so much betwixt ye and me,” replied Jamie, squeezing John’s arm to let him know there was no bad feeling at all. “I’m just warning ye, as I’d hate to see ye come to any harm.”

As they continued on their way, following an overgrown track that seemed to lead towards the cottage, brambles underfoot snagged at their feet. The sky was as dark as night, making it hard to see where they were walking. The wind in the canopy above them grew stronger and the rain became heavier. Branches creaked and the full summer foliage caught the brunt of the wind, leaves being ripped and shredded as they were battered against one another. Jamie held Mac Dubh’s head close and whispered to the animal, trying to calm him as best he could. He could hear John swearing behind him, cursing the weather, the brambles and the mud, all whilst trying to keep his horse under control.

Although Kaphero was the younger horse and more easily frightened, it was Jamie’s horse that reared up suddenly, terrified as another flash of lightning lit up the woods, making each tree trunk stand out vividly against the gloomy undergrowth. Any attempt to bring Mac Dubh back under control was lost as a twisted branch came crashing down from the treetops to strike him across his hindquarters. He whinnied like a beast being tortured, eyes rolling back in his head, showing the whites and then as he reared once more, his hooves treading air as if he was trying to gallop away vertically, Jamie was struck on the temple by a flying hoof.

John had just a split second to see what happened – he had been fully occupied trying to keep Kaphero calm. He had looked up as a peal of thunder rumbled through the woods, just in time to see the other horse up on his rear legs, lashing out and striking Jamie, causing him to collapse to the ground.

No longer being held tightly, the black stallion tossed his head from side to side, the long mane flicking wildly. Despite John’s best efforts to dash forward and grab hold of the reins, whilst keeping both horses from trampling on Jamie’s supine form, he was unable to grab hold of the animal and watched on in horror as Mac Dubh disappeared into the densest part of the wood.

_Oh fuck._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jamie came around, he found himself under cover with a blanket tucked over him. Further exploration revealed that he had been placed on top of an old battered mattress that had one of their sheets of canvas thrown over it. His head was throbbing and as he cautiously pressed his fingertips to his temple, he could feel cloth bound around the area. His fingers came away, sticky and warm with blood that had leaked through the makeshift bandage.

He stumbled to his feet and looked around. He was in the ruins of a cottage – it must have been the one they had seen through the trees. The roof was in tatters, although in places, including the place where he had been lying, there was enough thatch to keep out the worst of the weather. He could hear the drumming of raindrops on the remnants of the roof and also where it was dripping through the holes in the roof to splash onto rotten floorboards. Looking through the dirty, cracked windows, Jamie could see the storm was still raging. The sky kept lighting up with intermittent flashes of lightning. However, the length of time between lightning strikes and the rumbling of thunder was greater than it had been earlier, indicating that the storm was moving away.

“John?” he called out, suddenly aware of what was missing. “John!” He was alarmed that there was no reply.

It must have been John who dragged him in there somehow and had tended to his wound, before covering him to keep him warm. But there was no sign of the man himself, or either of their horses.

“A Dhia, where the hell have ye got to, man?”

As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloomy interior, Jamie could see the knapsack and John’s saddlebags sat next to the makeshift bed. The fact that he had left all his kit with Jamie meant that John intended for Jamie to have supplies of food, water, blankets and the means to light a fire – but that also meant that John had none of those supplies himself. Rubbing his face with a trembling hand, Jamie found himself fearing for the safety of his friend and wondering why that fear was so great that it made him feel sick to his stomach.

John must have ridden out to fetch back Jamie’s horse. _Damn_. Only a fool would willingly go out in such a storm. But Jamie knew that had he been in John’s position, he would have done the same. A soldier values his steed and will not let him run loose, not without trying to bring him back.

Worrying his lip and tapping the fingers of his right hand against his thigh, Jamie wondered how long he had been knocked out. Storms could last all day, so that was of no help in indicating how long he had been alone in the ruined cottage.

Shivering with either cold, or anxiety – probably both – Jamie decided to get a fire lit in the remnants of the fireplace. He wondered if the chimney was still viable, whether or not it would draw smoke from a fire. If not, there was still a hearth in which he could burn something. He saw that there was some broken furniture in the corner, chair legs that would burn well. He searched in John’s saddle bags for the tinderbox he had seen him use back in Stirling.

Eventually Jamie managed to get a fire lit, which served not only to warm the air, but to shed light on the gloomy surroundings. The windows were so dirty and covered in vines that no light entered through them apart from the brilliant light of the flashes of lightning, that were thankfully becoming less frequent.

He hoped to God that John had the sense to take shelter at some point.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later and there was still no sign of John. Jamie’s head hurt dreadfully, but at least he had managed to keep the fire going, even if most of the smoke permeated the interior of the cottage and very little of it was drawn up into the chimney.

Wondering whether he should venture out on foot to look for John, imagining his body lying under a tree, struck by lightning, Jamie started to gather the items he had taken out of the bags. It was then that he heard horses neighing and whinnying in the distance. He prayed that they were not alone, and that John was with them. It had grown darker and colder outside, the rain was still falling steadily, even though the storm had passed.

Tearing off a strip from an old tattered curtain, he wrapped the fabric around the end of a lathe of wood that stuck out from a broken interior wall. Lighting the torch, Jamie stood in the open doorway and waved it in the air, hopefully showing John where to head. The sounds of horses grew closer, but he could still not see man nor beast.

“John!” he called out, desperately. Although it may not have been John, he could not risk him riding past and not seeing the cottage ruins in the gloom.

“Jamie?” a cry came back out of the darkness, piercing the sounds of rain drops still pattering away on the sodden undergrowth.

“This way!” yelled Jamie, elated to hear John’s voice so close. He had begun to fear the worst.

From out of an archway of hawthorn, rode John, holding tightly onto the reins of Mac Dubh, leading his own horse Kaphero behind him. Even in the poor light, Jamie could see that he was shivering violently.

Jamie stumbled out to take the reins of Kaphero from John’s hand, allowing him to get down from Mac Dubh. Once on the ground, John exchanged reins with Jamie.

“Your horse, sir,” John bowed slightly as he handed over Mac Dubh.

“Is he injured?” asked Jamie, as he hushed the horse, reassuring the animal that he was there and all would be well.

“Some scratches and cuts to his legs from the brambles it dashed through, but not lame.”

“And ye – are ye injured?” Jamie tried to peer through the gloom to ascertain what sort of state John was in. He was thoroughly dishevelled, his hair loose and no neck cloth visible and there were pieces of plant material caught on his cloak. 

“Not much,” replied John with a crooked smile, absently pressing a hand to his side.

“John? What is it?” demanded Jamie. “Christ – have ye broken yer ribs?”

“I haven’t, although your horse may have. But I really do not think it is that bad – it just took a lot of persuasion to get him out of the thicket he had managed to get himself trapped in,” explained John as they led the horses towards the cottage ruins. “However, the good news is that he is now the best of friends with Kaphero. They conspired between them to make my journey back here as hellish as possible.”

“Let’s get them both inside, there’s one end of the building that looks as if it served as a stable before. It’s dry there and there are nae windows, so it should be quieter for them,” suggested Jamie, thankful for having spent some time familiarising himself with the lay out of the cottage. “There’s a couple of sturdy posts there we can tie them up to and hope they dinna pull the roof down over our heads overnight. After you, John.”

Taking a short rein to Kaphero, John led him into the building, leaving Jamie to deal with Mac Dubh.

Once they had settled the two horses and removed their saddles, they moved towards the other end of the building. Jamie picked up his saddle bags and as he did so he noticed the puddles of water that had collected on the floor from where John had been standing.

“Ye must be wet through, John, ye’ll freeze to death if ye dinna get out of those wet clothes.” Jamie took John by the arm and led him towards the fire, pausing briefly to unfasten the cloak and take it from the man. “Come along and get yerself dry and warm.”

In truth, John did not need coaxing or bullying into getting out of his wet clothes – although he chuckled to himself as he realised this would be the third night in a row that he had got so wet he needed to strip off in front of Jamie Fraser. The novelty was still sufficiently unusual for him to go pink at the thought. However, he was too tired and too cold to care less.

John looked around to find somewhere to put his wet clothing and finding nothing but heaps of rubble and broken furniture, settled for placing it on a shelf in the alcove to one side of the chimney breast. As he stripped down to shirt and breeches he looked up and met Jamie’s eyes that were watching his every move. He decided to distract Jamie by asking how he was – it would buy him a few minutes at least before he got the lecture that he could see fomenting behind those angry blue eyes.

“How’s your head?”

“Luckily I have a verra thick skull,” said Jamie, not fooled by John’s tactics. “It comes in handy when dealing with stupid horses and idiotic Englishmen.”

“By that token, I assume it is not life threatening?” Despite noting Jamie’s tone, John continued as if he was not on the receiving end of a fierce scowl.

“Nae, I had worse working in stables,” replied Jamie, folding his arms across his chest. “Now are ye going to let me see yer latest injuries?”

“See what?” asked John, feigning confusion.

“Yer latest collection of bruises or broken bones,” stated Jamie, brooking no argument. “I can see the way ye canna walk wi’out wincing and the stiffness of yer stance – ye are injured more than ye said, aren’t ye?”

“It really is nothing to worry about,” said John unsuccessfully attempting nonchalance. “I am just weary and aching. I shall be fully restored by morning.”

“Show me. Or d’ye want me to take yer shirt off fer ye?’

John held up a hand and then pulled his shirt from his breeches and went to lift the hem, only to wince once more in pain. Before he could intervene, Jamie was at his side lifting the shirt to examine his chest and back. He could feel from where Jamie was prodding that he had probably located at least two marks left by hooves, one very close to his spine and one on his left-hand side of his ribcage. 

“I’ve seen men wi’ injuries like that no’ be able to walk ever again!” exclaimed Jamie. “Ye need to lie down and rest!“

Jamie took John by the arms and moved him bodily to one side so that he could drag the makeshift bed nearer the fire. 

“Sit down and I’ll get another blanket so ye can have that around ye,” instructed Jamie as he stooped down to open one of his saddle bags.

“What about you?” demanded John, refusing to be told what to do. “You’ve still got blood running down your face!” John reached up to dab a fingertip to the trickle of blood that had escaped the stock he had tied around Jamie’s head. “You were knocked out – you should be the one keeping warm and resting. You lie down and I’ll keep watch-”

John had taken the blanket from Jamie that he was about to wrap around his shoulders, but before he could do anything with it, Jamie had snatched it back again.

“I had plenty o’ chance to rest while ye were out there in a storm and getting trampled by a bloody great horse!” Jamie poked at the location of the bruise on John’s side to make his point, although he regretted his action when he felt John flinch in response.

“At least it wasn’t my head that was trampled! You can barely stand up! Do not imagine for one moment that I have not seen you staggering around as if in your cups!” John prodded Jamie in the chest, partly in retaliation for the poke in the ribs and partly to make a point. “For Christ’s sake, will you stop acting like a bloody martyr! Dear God, is there any chance you will stop being so bloody self-righteous and insufferable?”

“Me? I’m no’ the one playing at being a hero. Ye’re the one that carried me here, bandaged my head and then rode out to rescue my bloody horse!” This time it was Jamie who advanced on John, outraged that an Englishman had the gall to call him self-righteous. “Which reminds me – just how the fucking hell did ye even get me in here in the first place?”

“What?” John was confounded by the change in tack. He could sense that Jamie was building up to an accusation, but he could not imagine what it could be.

“Aye and whilst we’re talking about that, what made ye stop tae bandage my head?” asked Jamie, tearing the stock from his head. “That was a waste o’ bloody time – ye shouldha gone straight after the damn horse-”

“Really?” shouted John. “And what would you have had me do? Leave you out in the storm with blood pouring from your head?”

“Aye – that,” replied Jamie as if it would have been a perfectly reasonable course of action. “I’d ha’ come round and been able to care for myself!”

“You insufferable damn idiot,” spat John. “Why do you think I did it? Why did I take that time to make sure you were alive and safe?”

“I have nae bloody idea!” declared Jamie, disingenuously. He knew full well the reasons why John had done what he had. “You tell me!”

“Because, God help me, I love you, you bloody idiot!” John dragged a hand through his wet hair and then rubbed his face. He knew that Jamie knew how he felt, but he had never spoken the words out loud, not where Jamie could hear him. “I saw you drop like a fucking stone and my heart stopped beating in my chest - because I thought you were dead.”

Tears sprung to John’s eyes as he awaited Jamie’s reaction, which he believed would be scornful at the best and violent at worst.

“What the hell does that have tae do with anything?” Jamie shook his head. He already knew exactly how John felt about him, the poor man had never been able to hide his feelings from him.

Taking advantage of Jamie’s hesitation, John shoved him towards one of the crumbling walls, each step advancing closer and closer, cornering him.

“Everything, you damn fool. Have you no idea what I would not do for you?” asked John plaintively. Exhaustion was setting in and the argument was only draining him further. “All the time I was looking for your damn horse, I was worried out of my mind. Terrified that I would return to find you dead.”

Jamie held John at arm’s length as he grunted loudly.

“While ye’re talking about worrying, did ye no stop to think what effect it would have on me, coming around in this place alone, with ye missing?” asked Jamie, his voice low and dangerous. “I didna ken where the hell ye were!”

“It should have been obvious where I had gone – after your bloody horse!”

“Ye were gone a verra long time. I was worrit about ye! I didna ken if ye’d been struck by a lightning bolt-”

“What? Divine intervention striking me dead for being a foul sodomite?” John was still waiting for Jamie’s reaction to his declaration of love. He knew it was coming.

“There’s nae need for blasphemy, John,” responded Jamie, frowning. “I was worrit about ye, because – “

“Why? Why the hell would you worry about me?” interrupted John, flinging his arms out to either side inviting an answer. “What is this that’s got into you, Fraser? Since we left Edinburgh you have not stopped fussing over me, expressing reservations about the recklessness of everything I suggest. You never once expressed concern for me in all the times I visited you at Helwater. During those years, I nearly died on several occasions. For God’s sake you saw for yourself how close I came to death as a result of that damn duel.”

Jamie did not answer with words, but with actions. Driven by his feelings that had been growing over the years, sharply brought into focus by their joint endeavour to save the lad who was their son, it suddenly struck him how devastated he would have been if John had lost his life. Striding forward, he grabbed hold of John by his shoulders and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

“Why? You want to know why I was worrit about ye?” demanded Jamie, his voice breaking with emotions finally released. “Because I love ye, ye bloody fool.”

“What?” Of all the reactions John had been expecting, this had been the last.

“I was scared ye were no’ going to come back,” explained Jamie. “That ye’d perished in that storm and been taken away from me. I canna lose ye, John. Ye mean too much tae me. “

Jamie wrapped his arms around John and pulled him in close.

“Did ye no’ ken how I felt?” Although Jamie had only just acknowledged the depth of his feelings for John, it occurred to him that John’s ability to perceive what others were truly thinking may have allowed him to see that Jamie loved him back.

“No, not at all – “ John shook his head, astounded and partly in shock. He had always assumed that Jamie’s love was out of reach and therefore had not seen the signs. It had not occurred to him that it would explain why Jamie cared for him as much as he did.

“Damn it, John, I was worrit sick that I’d lost ye again.”

Images from his earlier dreams flooded back to Jamie. Disturbing visions of John being dragged away from him, his arms pulled tight behind him and then the flash of steel as moonlight reflected off the sharp blade the moment it pierced John’s side.

“Again?” John frowned, puzzled by Jamie’s words.

“Dinna fash, mo leannan.” Jamie murmured the words into John’s ear as he held him close in his arms.

Loosening his grip sufficiently that he could press John up against the wall once more, Jamie ran his hands through the wet strands of hair, and then held John’s head in place as he kissed him, gently prying open John’s lips so he could slide his tongue between them, delving deeply and sighing into John’s mouth as he responded in kind.

Eventually they broke apart, in need of air, but they remained close, John’s arms around Jamie’s waist, and Jamie’s hands upon John’s shoulders.

“But I always thought you wanted nothing but friendship,“ whispered John, breathlessly. He could hardly believe that Jamie Fraser had wanted to kiss him, not like that.

“Aye, so did I,” replied Jamie, gently resting his forehead against John’s as he stroked the man’s back, wary of the bruises. “But the way I felt knowing ye were out there in that storm. Every lightning strike put terror in my heart and made me sick to my stomach. I couldna help worrying that ye’d been badly injured or were lying dead in the rain. Ye have nae idea of what was going through my head.”

“Damn, why would this night be the one where we are in a room with no bed at all?” remarked John, wryly.

“I just want to hold ye tonight.” Jamie took John by the hand and pulled him down with him as he sat down on the heap of blankets in front of the fire. “I need to ken ye’re safe.”

Yet again, unwelcome images of John knifed and bleeding sprung to mind. The idea that the price of his son’s safety would be John’s life was eating away at Jamie. He would not let it come to that. He would rather give his own life than see John’s taken in front of his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fills my "Stone circles" square for the Outlander Bingo 2020.

** Chapter 7 **

The morning air was fresh and clean following the storm, and as the sun rose, a mist rose from the damp ground under the trees. As Jamie led Kaphero out through the doorway, he checked the animal’s flanks for injuries that might have escaped unnoticed in the darkness of the previous day. He was glad to note there were none but a few small scratches, although a good brushing would not go amiss. Leading the beast to join his own horse at the stone water trough, Jamie tied a length of rope through Kaphero’s harness so that he, too, could feed on the lush grass and other plants growing outside the deserted cottage.

Content that the animals were securely tethered and not likely to wander off into the wilds on their own, Jamie picked bunches of feathery yarrow leaves from amongst the long grass. Placing the foliage onto one of the flagstones, he used a smaller rock to grind the leaves into a paste. He then scraped that up on the flat of his knife and carefully smeared it into the deeper cuts that his horse had suffered. The wounds were reddened but clean, the heavy rain having served some purpose. The sap from the plants would soothe the sores and help them heal faster.

He then used the brush he had packed on both horses, talking to them as he worked on their coats from head to tail, teasing out debris from their manes and tails. As he did so, his thoughts drifted back to the man he had left sleeping inside, under a pile of blankets in front of the burnt-out fire.

“I’m no’ verra happy wi’ the two of ye, giving John such a hard time.” Jamie admonished both horses. “Ye’re tae behave yerselves today, mind. Be good to Lord John – he’s a good man and he took good care of ye.”

Jamie thought back to words spoken in anger, yet still ringing in his ears – _Have you no idea what I would not do for you?_ That declaration coupled with the visions from those dreams troubled Jamie greatly. John was completely exhausted, partly because he had been out riding for hours in that horrendous storm. John had still not told Jamie how he had managed to get him to the cottage. The fact that he had achieved that in a storm made his accomplishment all the more remarkable. Jamie had seen his own bare legs and felt his back – there were no fresh bruises, apart from when he had probably hit the ground, no twigs or leaves in his hair, so the only plausible explanation was that John must have carried him, whilst leading his own horse, in treacherous conditions. Had he put him over his shoulder perhaps? Jamie knew of men experiencing enhanced strength when there was dire need of heroic feats – had that happened for John? His hero, taking care of him so well and all he had done was yell at him that he should not have bothered. It occurred to him that he was an idiot and did not deserve that man’s love.

Sighing to himself as he finished his tasks with the horses, he returned to the damp, dank interior of the cottage, thinking he should check the straps on the saddles to make sure the leather was not torn or stretched and that the buckles were not broken. It would not do for either of them to fall from their mounts. They were knocked about enough as it was and there was harder riding yet to be done.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see that John was becoming restless in his sleep, as if beginning to wake. Abandoning the saddles, which he promised to himself that he would check later, Jamie took two long strides towards John before crouching down between the fireplace and the makeshift bed.

Pressing a gentle kiss to John’s head, Jamie ruffled the dark, wavy hair of the person who was more than a friend - charaid ghràdhaich described him well – his dear friend. Charaid gaoil described what John Grey was to him even better – his dearest friend. How ironic that the two people who had laid claim to his heart in such an all-encompassing manner were both Sassenachs. Not that he would ever call John that. No, that term of affection was reserved solely for Claire.

It soothed his soul to see John so relaxed, stretching out his limbs like a cat, that was until he winced and halted his movements the moment he flexed an aching muscle. Jamie sympathised, knowing from personal experience just how exhausting it could be handling horses in bad weather, never mind two high spirited stallions in a storm such as the one they had experienced the previous day. John had done well to bring both animals back with minimal injuries to them and to himself, and that made Jamie smile. It spoke well of John that he could handle horses, as Jamie had always known them to be good judges of men.

“Good morning, mo charaid gaoil.” Jamie smiled to himself as he tested out the phrase with reference to John and it felt right. He leant down to lightly brush his lips across John’s mouth. “It’s time ye woke up now, mo leannan.”

John frowned as if trying to puzzle out what Jamie was saying – he recognised that phrase from the previous morning, when he had assumed Jamie had been dreaming about William.

“What does that mean? Mo leannan?” asked John, struggling to replicate the sound that Jamie produced when speaking Gaelic.

Jamie frowned as he tried to work out what John was asking, then realised that he had referred to him as his sweetheart without thinking. In response he could do nothing but grin. 

“Just a term of affection – ye’ve caught me in a good mood,” Jamie answered, not untruthfully, but not divulging too much. “Either that or maybe it’s the blow to my skull has made me soft on ye.”

Standing up to avoid further questions, Jamie turned away to check the condition of John’s clothes that he had neatly placed to one side of the chimney breast. They were still damp which did not surprise him. It would not do John any good to travel far in such damp clothing – not battered and bruised as he was already. He had possibly caught a chill from the time he had spent outside in that storm, lashed by hail and rain. He would have placed them out in the sun to air, but the cottage ruins were overshadowed by tall trees, which were blocking the warmth of the sun.

Then an idea came to Jamie. From previous journeys north via Amulree, he knew of a large pond this side of the road, in a clearing in the wood, secluded and always deserted. He decided that they should go there first. A short stop to refresh them both and give the horses a respite.

Looking over his shoulder, Jamie could see that John had rolled over and was lying on his stomach, possibly trying to reduce pressure on the injury to his back. His head was pillowed on his folded arms, his hair falling loose over them. He really was a very handsome man. Sighing to himself, Jamie crouched down once more.

“Come on, mo charaid, shift yer skinny, pale arse out of that bed.”

John chuckled to himself, he was enjoying being teased by Jamie Fraser first thing every morning.

“I’ll have you know that my arse has been described as many things, including pale, but never as skinny.” As if to prove his credentials, John waggled his bottom provocatively.

“Aye, well, let me be the judge o’ that.” Jamie reached down under the thin blanket to grab a handful of naked buttock. “Fair enough, there’s meat enough on there to cushion ye on the saddle.”

John had stilled immediately and had to sink his teeth into his forearm to hold back his reaction to feeling Jamie fondle his backside. The fact that the biting hurt proved he was not asleep, which did not help matters.

“Dear God, I do not believe I am going to ask this of you,” muttered John, breathing heavily. “But- Jamie, will you please get your hand off my arse, or I cannot guarantee that I shall not drag you down here to join me.”

“I am verra sorry,” Jamie said with a grin. He was surprised at how easy it came for him to touch John’s body. “I’ll let ye feel my arse too, if that would make us even.”

“That would make matters far, far worse,” groaned John. “I beg you – please cease and desist. At least for now.”

Pulling back the blankets, Jamie delivered a playful slap to John’s bare arse and then stood up quickly before the threatened reprisal was carried out.

John grabbed hold of a blanket to shield himself as he got up and sorted through his clothing. To distract Jamie—and to take his own mind off thoughts that were not conducive to getting dressed—he asked, “How’s your head today? I am not sure that your hat will fit over that goose egg.”

“Still sore, but the cut’s not bleeding.” Jamie rubbed the lump on his forehead and shrugged. He had tried to rinse out the blood from the neck stock that John had tied around his head the previous day, but to no avail. “And what about yer ribcage – any worse?”

“It’s still aching and painful, but I can stand and walk, and probably ride a horse without too much discomfort.” John rotated his arms, feeling a stiffness in the joints from wrestling with horses and from carrying a heavy Scotsman, but he did not appear to have pulled any muscles.

“There ye go – isn’t that easier, just being honest?” Jamie rued his sarcasm as soon as he caught sight of the raised eyebrows on John’s face. “Aye, I ken I’m just as bad.”

“Indeed,” replied John with a wry smile as he tucked in his crumpled shirt and buttoned up his breeches. “I take it you’ve seen to the horses?”

“Aye – they’ve been watered and they’re getting their own breakfast. I treated their scratches with some yarrow leaf and even managed to get the pair o’ them brushed.”

“Good heavens, they will be better groomed than I am today,” said John, dragging his tangled hair back from his head and into a hastily tied ribbon. “I shall be ready to leave shortly. Perhaps a bite to eat before we set off?”

“Aye – I had an oatcake earlier – there’s still some left for ye, the rats didn’t eat them over night.” Jamie pointed at the cloth bag he had hung from a hook away from the floor. “I’ll get the horses saddled and loaded up. If ye can pack yer saddlebags we can be off soon. Before we get back on the road, I thought we could stop off somewhere I know to wash and have breakfast. Ye can comb out yer hair properly.”

“Surely there’s no inn nearby?” asked John, ignoring the pointed comment about his vanity. It was hard enough dealing with the beard that was growing thicker each day, without having Jamie comment on his hair. 

“Nae, no inn. But there is a nice secluded pond, with good fishing and deep enough to bathe in,” explained Jamie with a twinkle in his eyes. “Will that do ye, yer Lordship?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was quite high in the sky when they reached the pond that Jamie had described. And although it was secluded – screened off by trees – there were grasses and reeds surrounding it and several boulders scattered amongst the tall vegetation.

John watched on as Jamie tied up their horses near the edge of the pond where they could graze freely on the fresh green grass, succulent from the rain fall. As soon as the horses were settled, Jamie started to strip off first, laying his clothes out on the rocks to catch the sun, placing some smaller rocks on top to hold them in place.

Once down to just his shirt, Jamie glanced over his shoulder at John, who was still fully dressed. In all fairness, it had been John who had undressed in front of Jamie the previous three nights. John was pleased that his looks of desire were not causing the man any distress. Far from it, they appeared to be encouraging him to drag out the process of removing his clothing one item at a time. When Jamie had nothing on but his shirt, he spun on his heel and let the wind catch the hem of it, revealing his well-formed arse. Following a meaningful pause, he pulled the whole garment over his head and flung it to the ground. John chuckled to himself, realising that, not only was Jamie comfortable being naked in his company, he was also more than happy to flirt with him.

John wondered if Jamie was aware that this was the first time he had seen him completely naked. He had seen his back before – the scars from multiple floggings still criss-crossed his broad back. Faded, thankfully, since he had last seen them at Ardsmuir where, to his everlasting shame, he had watched on as more were added – at his command. He had known damn well that the fragment of plaid found in one the cells had nothing to do with Fraser and that he only claimed it as a means of forcing John to have him punished, fracturing whatever had been left of their friendship at that point.

Looking down, he was able to fully appreciate Jamie’s firm arse, untouched by scars, thank God, and legs that were as slender and muscular as he had imagined from the feel of them entwined around his as they had held each other close during the night.

While John was taking in the view, Jamie was slowly wading out into the water, biting the inside of his mouth to suppress an unmanly squeal as the cold water climbed up his legs and swirled around his testicles.

Taking a deep breath and praying that the cold water would put paid to his burgeoning erection, John smiled as he also disrobed, neatly setting out each item of clothing on one of the boulders, already warmed by the sun. He hoped they would drive out the coldness from the wool of his coat and waistcoat. He then understood what Jamie had intended: they could get clean, while letting the horses have some recovery time from their ordeal and allowing the sun’s heat to take the damp from their clothes.

Sitting on a boulder to remove his stockings, John put his bare feet to the ground and suppressed memories of a far less pleasant occasion when he felt the dew-soaked grass under foot. Shaking such recollections from his mind, John cautiously followed Jamie into the pond, letting the cold water lap around his thighs and then yelped as it crept higher.

As he swore out loud, Jamie turned around in the water and laughed at him.

“Too cold fer ye?” teased Jamie. As John made his way carefully into the water, Jamie could not resist scooping up a handful of water and throwing it at him, catching him across his face and chest.

“You bastard!” shouted John, outraged. Then he planted his feet into the sediment and pushed away, swimming out towards Jamie with intent.

Despite the initial shock, once he was fully immersed, John could feel the cold water soothing his aches. As the water sluiced away the sweat and grime from the previous day’s exertions, John felt reinvigorated– inside as well as out.

Jamie was treading water as he waited for John to catch up with him. Seeing the man’s eyes closed and his mouth open he was momentarily concerned, but as John drew closer, he could hear the gentle sighs of relief.

“Does that feel better?”

“Yes. Dear God, I had no idea how bad I felt until now.” 

Taking hold of John’s arms, Jamie pulled him down under the water, letting the chill wash over them both as he ducked under the surface. The water was clear and cold – just what they needed to refresh them.

Rushing back up to the surface, gulping for air, they clasped hold of one another, for no other reason than that they could. Before long they found themselves sharing a kiss, as the water held up their bodies, legs entwined once more, bodies pressed together from lip to hip. John had never dared be this close to another man in the open air and the sensations were threatening to overwhelm him, not least of all because of his feelings for this particular man. There was something liberating about swimming naked with Jamie Fraser in the middle of the woods that made his heart sing. Tears came unbidden to his eyes as he tried to commit that moment to memory, holding Jamie in his arms and watching as water dripped from the curls framing his face, sunlight making each droplet sparkle.

“Are ye alright, John? Did something get in yer eyes?” asked Jamie, licking the drips of water from his lips as he leaned back.

“Nothing that I would not have stay in my sight forever,” confessed John, leaning forward to kiss Jamie once more. “I am more than alright. In fact, I have never felt more alive.”

There were no words that Jamie could say that would do justice to how he felt, so he just pulled John closer and hugged him tightly. He had never thought he could feel this way again and in part it felt like a betrayal, but less so because it was not another woman. His love for John was different and bore no comparison with how he had felt about Claire – and that revelation seemed to set his heart free.

By mutual consent, they helped one another get cleaned, rubbing each other’s backs and scalps to wash away debris and dirt. The mere fact that Jamie trusted his back, scarred as it was, to John’s touch spoke volumes.

When they eventually made their way back to the bank, carefully navigating the sharper stones and thick mud, Jamie let go of John’s hand and headed towards the reeds.

“Lay down on one of the blankets and let the sun warm yer bones. I’ll see if I can catch us something better for breakfast than bread and cheese.”

Lying on his front letting the warmth from the sun permeate his body as Jamie had suggested, John could hear him splashing about at the edge of the pond, swearing in Gaelic and squealing with delight as he apparently had success. John could not recall listening to a more joyful sound. 

John must have dozed off at some point, because before he knew it, Jamie was at his side, setting down two glistening trout on the trampled grass.

“They’re looking nasty,” observed Jamie, brushing his fingertips across the dark purple bruising on John’s back. “If ye got what I asked ye to buy at the apothecary in Crieff, I’ll put something on those to ease the bruising.”

Jamie fetched the small knapsack and rooted around until he found the small pot of arnica salve. He carefully removed the cover and took a dollop of the greasy ointment and spread it over the palms of his hands.

“Stay where ye are fer now – dinna move a muscle,” instructed Jamie as he crouched down next to John.

John stayed still as he felt Jamie’s hands, slick with the salve, rub slow circles into the aching area as he massaged in the arnica.

“Dear God, where did you learn to do that?” asked John, sighing as he felt any remaining tension seep out of his body.

“From Claire,” said Jamie, pleased with himself that he could speak her name freely without pain. “She taught me a lot about how to care fer wounds and injuries.”

“I’m sorry,” apologised John, placing a hand on Jamie’s to still him. “I didn’t mean to remind you of what you’ve lost.”

“Dinna fash, mo charaidh.” Jamie said as he lifted John’s arm and moved it to rest by his head, so that he could access the bruising on his ribs. “It’s good to remember her as a healer. D’ye think ye could roll over a wee bit?”

As John rolled onto his side, Jamie saw again, this time in bright sunlight, the scars across John’s chest – close to his heart.

“These scars?” asked Jamie, tracing them with a finger. “Are some of them from one o’ those times ye said ye nearly died? I ken ye were cut there by Twelvetrees’ blade, but what about the others?”

“Yes, the year before that particular duel, at Krefeld,” replied John, as he moved Jamie’s hand out of the way to indicate which of the scars were from the incident at Krefeld. “Some of them caused by the flying pieces of metal from an exploding cannon and the others from the surgeons who tried to cut them out before they pierced my heart.”

“Dear God, I never knew.” Jamie took a dab of the salve and rubbed it gently into the scars. As he did so, he mulled over the fact that whilst he had been safely working in the stables at Helwater – thanks to John’s intervention –John had come so close to death on the battlefield.

Then later that year, when John had come to see him at Helwater and had spoken to Jamie so candidly, he had been cruel and abusive towards John when all the time he had been recovering from horrific injuries. _If he had known, how would he have reacted?_

“What about this one?” asked Jamie. Lifting John’s left arm once more, he could see the thin white line of yet another scar.

“Also at Krefeld,” replied John. “According to Hal, it was almost blown clean off by the blast as the cannon exploded.”

“And they didna think of amputating?” asked Jamie, astounded. He was surprised that John had not lost his arm if the injury had been that devastating.

“Oh yes, they very much wanted to. As is the case with army surgeons on the field, their first instinct is to cut off anything damaged.” John sighed as he flexed the arm, grateful he had not ended up like Stephan with a stump where his arm had been. “Hal made sure they did not.”

“Why?”

“Because I begged him to. I told him I’d rather die.” John thought back to that awful day. “I do not recall much of that day, apart from pain. But I recall clearly that when they did operate on me – without opium – Hal held my hand throughout, a cocked pistol on his knee to make sure they did not let me die.”

Jamie crossed himself and offered a prayer of gratitude to Hal. Even though he still believed him to be a manipulative bastard, that bastard had been there for his brother. Jamie had seen many dreadful injuries and watched on as Claire had treated them. He knew the agony that those suffering endured, from first-hand experience as well as in the men he led into battle. For some reason, he had never imagined Lord John Grey sharing their experiences. To his shame, he had never thought of John’s role as a commissioned officer as one that placed him in mortal danger.

“I’m beginning to think I underestimated both ye and yer brother, John.” Jamie eventually admitted, with a slow exhale of breath. Then he thought of John having been recommissioned and felt a knot in his gut. “Were ye due to serve overseas again?”

“I have no idea.” John shrugged, as if being absent without leave was a minor misdemeanour. “I did not wait to receive my papers.”

Neither man wanted to talk about the implications of John’s current status in in the British Army and the fact that his future could involve possible imprisonment for desertion or being allocated a deliberately dangerous campaign.

Jamie sat back on his heels and sighed as he held out a hand for John to help him to his feet. It had not occurred to either of them up to that point that they were both still naked.

“Maybe we should get dressed?” suggested John. “Should anyone chance upon this location, we would be rather vulnerable.”

“Aye, that’s a good point,” agreed Jamie, as he peeled a stocking from a rock. “Then I’ll get these trout gutted and fix ye a breakfast fit fer a king.”

Once dressed in shirt and breeches, John made a fire whilst Jamie sliced open the fish and pulled out their guts, throwing them back into the water, only to attract the attention of a few gulls that had been circling overhead.

“Storms must be bad out at sea to drive those sae far inland,” he commented pointing at the birds that were squabbling over the entrails.

To speed up the cooking, Jamie filleted the fish and threw the heads out into the pond to the delight of the gulls that were still hanging around.

Having placed a flattened stone in the fire pit, Jamie spat on it to check it was hot before placing the pieces of fish onto it, skin side down to start with.

Taking one of the loaves of bread from the knapsack, Jamie tore it in half and then opened each half into a pocket. Once the fish were cooked, he slipped the fillets into the pockets, so they could be eaten without getting fingers greasy or burnt.

“Inside the bread?” asked John quizzically as Jamie passed him his breakfast.

“Aye, something else Claire showed me – from where she came from,” mumbled Jamie, from around a mouthful of bread, softened by the hot fish. “She called it a sandwich.”

“How remarkable,” said John, briefly pausing before taking another bite. He had been at a card game when the Earl of Sandwich had asked for his beef to be served between slices of bread, after which it became fashionable to request a sandwich. He frowned, confused as Jamie had lost his wife in 1746 – twenty years ago. “Your wife truly was ahead of her time.”

“Aye, that she was,” agreed Jamie, with a wry smile. _If only John knew the truth._

“It certainly keeps grease stains from clothing, something that causes endless distress to Tom. Perhaps I should eat like this more often when I return to London.”

As soon as he said it, the words choked him. He had only thought as far as rescuing William and no further. It had not occurred to him until that moment that he would have to go back to England, to London. Hopefully to re-join his regiment without court martial if he could prove mitigating circumstances; and then to be commissioned again, probably to be dispatched overseas once more. Looking at Jamie, he could see that similar thoughts were going through his mind, too.

Jamie felt as if the trees were closing in on him as the inevitability of losing John came crashing down on him. He could not waste any of the time they had left. Taking hold of John by his arm, Jamie pulled him close and kissed him with all the pent-up feelings he could not possibly put into words – joy that he had found love and despair in the knowledge that he could not keep hold of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The weather remained calm as they made good progress through the scattered settlement of Amulree and onwards, the land either side of the road ablaze with the red and purple flowers of the heather. They had taken another break on the banks of Loch na Craige, a small loch just south of Aberfeldy. Here they refilled their water canteens from a stream entering the loch while the horses drank from it further downstream. Jamie plucked a sprig of heather and slipped it through the clasp on his cloak, in memory of those lost on Culloden Moor. He would have offered some to John, but he did not think he would appreciate wearing a Jacobite emblem.

Although it had been the original plan to go off the main roads and strike out across the hills on the other side of the river Tay, the storms would have made the ground too treacherous underfoot, with mudslides and displaced scree making it too dangerous to risk. Jamie explained to John that they would have to keep to the main road as far as Loch Treimheil and then cut through the forests there towards Calvine. As Jamie’s knowledge of the land was far superior to John’s he had no objections to the revised plans, although he recalled a different name on the maps they had studied back in Edinburgh.

“Is that also known as Loch Trummel?” asked John.

“Aye, but only because some English bastard couldna spell properly and wrote it down as Trummel on his bloody map.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late afternoon when they crossed the brick bridge over the River Trummel and then headed eastward to skirt the northern shore of the loch. The sun on their backs was warm, a pleasant change from the previous few days.

After two miles, Jamie indicated that they should take a track which headed off northwards, away from the loch and uphill. As they rode along through the tall pine trees, much of the sunlight was blocked out, making it both cooler and darker. The fallen needles from the trees provided a soft carpet, cushioning their horses’ hooves and muffling the sound of their passing. It also seemed that the sounds of birds diminished as they climbed higher, as if something was hushing the wildlife – subduing it as they progressed.

Approaching the top of the hill, the trees thinned out, giving way to birch and ancient, twisted oak trees, their bent limbs reaching down to the ground, the bare ends of the branches like skeletal fingertips. As Kaphero trod on a fallen branch, the cracking sound echoed around them eerily.

At the very top of the hill they entered a large clearing, with rocks and boulders scattered amongst bracken and coarse grasses. There appeared to be some stones arranged in rows and then in the centre of the clearing there were four much larger stones, each at the corner of what appeared to be a square. In the middle the ground was blackened and charred sticks showed where there had been a small fire, probably a few days past, as the ground was still wet. There were charred bones scattered around as it someone had roasted a rabbit there – although it seemed to be still intact, and not eaten. The sight of it made Jamie shudder. He could not help feeling that there was something very wrong about this place. He had no idea why he had even led them along the track that led there – there were other pathways that cut across the moorland and woods that also led to Calvine. There was no need to take the path he had, it had not been his original plan.

“Jamie – what is this place?” asked John quietly, as if also unnerved by the place. He got down from Kaphero, feeling the need to pass through on foot. “Does this place have a name?”

“Aye, Na Clachan Aoraidh,” answered Jamie, realising exactly where they were as he looked across at the distant peaks, their summits shrouded with wispy clouds.

“Is there an English translation for that?”

“The worship stones,” replied Jamie, as he also dismounted. 

“That makes sense.” John nodded his head as he considered the type of worship that had been carried out in the clearing.

The whole clearing had the solemn atmosphere of an ancient church, the feeling of a place haunted by all the worshippers that had passed that way over the centuries. The stones spoke to John of pagan worship and possible sacrifices at the altar of some unholy gods.

John tied off his horse on the branch of an oak tree and then wandered into the centre and looked around gazing into the distance at the mountains ahead. He found himself focusing on the tallest and most upright of the four stones and felt gravitated towards it.

“There seems to have been recent activity here,” said John, crouching down next to the stone.

There were small bunches of herbs and wildflowers tied with string and pushed into various cracks in the stone. White heads of yarrow flowers tinged with pink, yellow hawksbeard, and pink restharrow, along with wild thyme and rue. On the tops of the stone were dribbles of wax indicating the presence of candles that had been placed there.

As John idly reached out to touch the wax, he felt a sensation that he had not experienced since that damned electric eel party. Only this time he was not thrown to the ground, just stung as if static had built up after a storm to be discharged through his finger.

“Ouch!” exclaimed John, pulling his finger away and sucking on it automatically as if to remove a stinger.

“Have ye got yerself stung by something?” asked Jamie, spinning around to see why John had called out. He had been scouting around the outside of the four stones looking to see where the track continued, using the distant mountains to work out his bearings. “A bee or a wasp?”

“No – I don’t think so. I am not certain.” John frowned as he examined his fingertip for any indication of what had happened.

“John – take care!” Jamie called out, disturbed by the unnatural silence and feeling worried for their safety.

Captivated by the stone that had attracted so much attention, John did not hear Jamie’s warning. He was too absorbed by a sudden compulsion to place his left hand flat against the stone’s surface.

Drawing close, Jamie thought he saw a tiny spark between the standing stone and the sapphire ring that John wore, although it could just have been the sunlight reflecting the blue of the sapphire. Whatever the reason was, it made Jamie nervous.

“John, move away from there. Now!”

But John could still not hear Jamie. All he could hear was a buzzing in his ears as if a swarm of bees had descended upon him. He vaguely wondered if he had indeed been stung by a bee. But there were none to be seen. The buzzing became louder and more insistent. He thought he could faintly hear Jamie in the distance as if from within a tunnel. And then his limbs began to tingle.

“John!” yelled Jamie, alarmed to see that instead of moving away, John had also placed his right hand against the stone and was starting to lean forward. “Let go of it, John!”

Getting no response, Jamie put his arms around John. As soon as he did so, he heard a distantly familiar humming sound. Alarm shot through him and he wrapped his arms around John’s waist. Clasping his hands together, he pulled as hard as he could, digging his heels into the soft ground to gain greater purchase. But a more powerful force was dragging John from his grip. His hands were slipping away from John, but Jamie was not going to lose to the stones. Not again. He rallied his strength once more and this time, leaned over, toppling John to one side. That proved enough to break the connection and both men fell to the ground, rolling over one another as they tumbled away from the elevated area.

Not content with getting John free from the stone, Jamie leapt to his feet, grabbed hold of John’s hand to pull him up, and then ran further from the stones.

Only then, when they were out of the proximity of the stones, did the buzzing stop for John. Tugging his hand from Jamie’s, he dropped to his knees, placing his hands over his ears and shaking badly.

“Dear God in heaven, what was that?” demanded John, his voice cracking.

“Dinna ask, John,” Jamie crouched down next to John, bracing himself against his shoulders. “I’ll no’ speak of this until we’re away from here. It is no’ safe fer ye to stay anywhere near this place. Come on.”

Jamie did not want to lose contact with John, for fear of whatever demonic power lay in those stones taking him once more in its thrall. He had felt the strength with which that force had held John, tugging at him and holding him in its grip. The similarities with what he had experienced at Craigh na Dun with Claire terrified him. He then considered the ransom note and the demand to meet at that very place. A cold chill came over him, colder than the water over their heads that morning. He wondered again at the very specific demands and the location referred to. Then he thought back to his dream, the one of John, bleeding at the base of a stone, a knife in his side and blood on his hands, his eyes wide and full of fear. Jamie could not let that happen. He would not let that vision be realised.

“You know of this phenomenon?” asked John, frowning as he looked into Jamie’s eyes, waiting for an answer.

“Aye,” muttered Jamie. “I’ll tell ye all I know, but not here. Trust me, mo leannan, ye’re no’ safe here.”

“I trust you. Yes, of course. But-” wondered John. He was not one to believe in such things, but the whole place felt haunted. As if there were eyes watching them both and assessing their reactions.

Jamie looked around sharply, he thought he heard something in the undergrowth. Something shuffling along. His rational mind suggested it was probably just a badger or a wild boar.

“Come on, we should aim to make it to Calvine by nightfall.”

Jamie hauled John back to his feet and did not let go off him until he had got safely back on his horse. Even then, he was not happy to let go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, they made camp in the woods above Calvine. The supplies they had gathered in Crieff proving invaluable as they made a shelter using fallen branches and canvas sheets. Jamie set up a campfire, with a circle of stones as a hearth with two sturdy branches either side supporting a metal rod, from which hung a small pot from a chain. Into the pot, Jamie had put water and some pieces of dried meat and herbs. A broth to restore them, with fresh herbs he had picked earlier that day from outside the cottage they had slept in.

As night fell, they could hear owls calling to each other, an eerie sound, that Jamie knew was the source of many a folk tale. There were glowing lights that were the glow worms – beetles whose bodies glowed green in the darkness and other sounds. Creaking of branches as they cooled down and contracted at night. The gurgling sounds of water running across stones in the streams and the snuffling of badgers as they rooted around for earthworms. The forest at night was not a quiet place and could very easily make a person believe in ghosts.

However noisy the forest was that night, it was nowhere near as frightening as the silent clearing with the four stones lying in wait to prey upon the unwary. Jamie held John close that night – for warmth and for his own peace of mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile in the town of Kingussie, in a coaching inn, a young boy stared petulantly out of a grimy window.

“Where are they?” whined the boy, stomping his feet again. “You said that Papa was joining us. And you promised that Mac would be with him.”

“Och, we’ve no’ arrived yet, wee laddie,” cooed the woman from where she was reclining on the bed. “They’ll have been delayed by those storms as well I should think.”

“Is that why we’ve been here all day?” The boy asked hopefully. “Waiting for Papa?”

“No, laddie. We’ll see yer papa soon, but not today. We’re waiting because they had to replace the broken wheel on our carriage. We’ll set off in the morning. Now get yerself tae bed, will ye-“

The woman took hold of William by his arms and dragged him away from the window.

“I want my papa!” William kicked out at the woman’s legs angrily.

“Ye shall see him, I promise ye that. It’s going tae be such an adventure – a surprise.”

“You swear?”

“I swear ye’ll ne’er forget it. Now come on, I need to talk to the coachman – get tae bed and I’ll lock ye in tae keep ye safe.”

As soon as the woman had locked the door behind her, William looked around the room for something to write with. If his papa was following, he would be staying at this inn – it was the smartest one he had seen as they had walked through, having had to abandon the coach when its wheel came off. His papa only stayed in the best inns.

Finding nothing to write with, William crouched in front of the fireplace and lit one of the wooden spills, letting it burn for a few seconds and then blowing it out. Looking around the room, he thought of where he could leave a gift for his papa, to let him know he was thinking about him. If he did not stay in the same room, someone else would find it and they could give it to him instead. Perhaps it would be Mac who found it.

It had to be somewhere only seen after they had left in the morning. The woman – who said to call her Auntie Gillian – had not put anything in the presses, so he knew they would be a good place.

He pulled open a drawer and then used the burnt stick to write a message on the lining paper.

_Please give this to my papa. His name is Lord John Grey. W._

Then reaching deep inside the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a carved wooden snake. He kissed its back and then placed it carefully inside the drawer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to MistressPandora for her sterling work beta reading this and making some wise suggestions on how to improve the pacing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fills my "Stone Circles" square for the Outlander Bingo 2020.

** Chapter 8 **

The harsh, clattering calls of magpies, fighting and squabbling in the treetops, was the discordant sound that woke the men from their slumbers. Jamie smiled as he realised that John had his arms wrapped around his waist and that his chin was resting on John’s head, as he held him close to his chest. They had made their bed in a sheltered hollow and curled up together, without question, as soon as they had lined it with blankets and pulled their cloaks over them. The thick layer of pine needles cushioned them against any rocks in the ground, even though the occasional sharp spine had pierced clothing.

Despite the relative comfort, they were probably just as tired as when they had gone to sleep – the sounds of the forest had disturbed their sleep throughout the night. After the troubling incident at Na Clachan Aoraidh, both had slept with a dagger close to hand. Jamie had refused John’s offer to sit on watch – he felt they were safer in each other’s arms. He did not want to admit he was afraid of waking to find John spirited away in the night.

“Jamie?” asked John, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he rolled onto his back. He had let questions go answered the night before but knew that he could no longer put off finding out what Jamie knew of those stones. For his peace of mind, he needed to know. Especially as their destination was another stone circle.

“Aye, mo caraidh?” Jamie ran his fingers through John’s hair, admiring the soft waves that framed the man’s face when it was not scraped back from his forehead and clubbed back in a tight ribbon. It softened John’s features and made him even more handsome.

However, the lack of reaction from John alerted Jamie to the fact that something was bothering him if he was barely aware of the fact that he was stroking his hair. Huffing to himself, Jamie moved aside the cloaks that were covering them and sat up. Shuffling around, he leaned back against the trunk of a large pine tree and clasped his hands around his knees. In doing so, he hoped he made it clear that he was ready to talk.

Following Jamie’s lead, John pushed himself up and took a seat opposite Jamie. He sat cross-legged, absently plucking pine needles from his breeches. Looking up and meeting Jamie’s eyes, he braced himself, ready to ask once more.

“What happened yesterday, at the Worship Stones? We need to talk about it. You told me that you would tell me what you know of them.”

By the time they had decided to pitch camp the previous evening the sun had been starting to set and it had got dark quickly in the forest. There had been other matters to deal with – securing the horses, setting up a shelter, lighting a fire and preparing food. They had carried out each task with the minimum of talking, reading each other well enough to follow barely worded instructions and requests. Jamie had not proffered any further information he had about stone circles, or squares, and John had not asked. But in the light of morning, with sunlight filtering through the trees, beams of light penetrating the dark canopy, it seemed to be a more suitable time to discuss the phenomenon.

“Let’s eat whilst we talk,” suggested Jamie. He reached for a bag he had hung from a lower hanging branch and pulled out some oatcakes and a lump of cheese. He passed two of the oatcakes to John and broke the piece of cheese in two, handing half of that over as well.

“I dinna ken if it is true for all stone circles and standing stones. I only ken what I have seen wi’ my own eyes. And that was twenty years ago.” Jamie paused, taking a bite from his oatcake as he wondered whether he would have believed it without proof. “I ken ye’ll no’ want tae believe it wi’out evidence-”

“After what happened yesterday, I think I am more willing to accept anything beyond the normal,” interrupted John. Even if it had not been for what had happened at the stones, his own experiences in the Caribbean had made him all too aware of the power of superstition, whether one believed in it or not. “I have seen things whilst serving overseas that opened my eyes to all realm of possibilities. One day, God willing, I shall get to tell you about my encounters with zombies.”

Jamie tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, wondering yet again, just what sort of trouble John Grey had got himself into between his visits to Helwater.

“When this is all over, I’d like to hear more about your adventures.” Jamie smiled at John, fully intending to stay in touch with the man once they had rescued William. “As ye probably ken, stones like those have been there well before history was written. They’re described in ballads and laments going back a long time.”

“As they have been elsewhere,” added John, swallowing a bite of cheese. He was thinking of excursions to the county of Wiltshire. “Stonehenge and the stones at Avebury come to mind.”

“Here, in the Highlands, the tribes and clans that carved out their territories, they always respected the auld places. Nae one would ever think of knocking down those stones in a field – they work around them, ye ken? Fear of being cursed for disturbing the resting places of the auld ones is still common enough.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that for myself. Not just the stones, but burial mounds from ancient times.”

“Well, ye will ken that there are those who still worship at the stones, druids and the like,” explained Jamie, although he could see that he was not telling John anything he did not already know. “They leave offerings and gather at certain times of the year -“

“Such as midsummer?” asked John, recalling the burnt offerings, floral tributes and the wax from candles he had seen at Na Clachan Aoraidh.

“The summer solstice? Aye,” Jamie nodded solemnly, picking up on John’s unspoken concern. It was the date set by William’s kidnappers for the lad’s exchange. Despite the set back of the bad weather, they were still making good progress and would be there in time. “And we’re getting closer to that every day. It’s only a week away now.”

“Is today the fourteenth of June already?” asked John, wrinkling his forehead as he tried to recall which day of the week it was. He had almost lost track of time since they had set off from Edinburgh.

“Nae, John – that was yesterday,” replied Jamie, frowning in return. “Why d’ye ask?”

“Nothing. It was… it was my birthday. I’m now thirty-seven years of age,” answered John, his voice quiet and broken. Setting aside his food on the blanket, he reached into his waistcoat and fetched the pocket watch. Holding it close to his face, he studied the inscription on the back of the case. The gift he had received from his father on his twelfth birthday. “Which makes today the twenty-fifth anniversary of the day my father was murdered.”

Jamie could tell how much that tragedy still affected John, and he leant forward to take one of John’s hands in his. There were no words that would ever diminish that pain of losing a parent, especially to such a violent death. It seemed that John was always to associate his own birthday with the loss of his beloved father, which seemed to Jamie to be a cruel twist of fate. It had been John’s love of his father that had made him so determined to clear his father’s name and restore his reputation. To be reminded of all that had happened each year was yet another burden that the man carried and Jamie was in quiet awe of the resignation with which John Grey approached all that life dealt him. He gave John time to compose himself.

“I have grieved enough for what has been lost” Swallowing hard, John blinked back an errant tear and tucked the pocket watch away, as if setting aside his grief for another time. “Now I need to focus on not losing another loved one.” John spoke quietly, although what he was saying was principally for his own sake, he wanted Jamie to hear. “Please continue. The solstice? What relevance does it have to these stones?”

Jamie sighed, although he wanted to offer some comfort to John, he had no choice but to respect his resolve to focus on the kidnappers’ request, which required an understanding of the nature of the stones. Before releasing John’s hand, he squeezed it firmly, in acknowledgement of his grief and as a promise to comfort him whenever he was ready to accept it. He then leaned back against the tree once more, its rough bark on his back grounding him. It was time he shared a secret with John that he had not shared with another living soul.

“Some of the stone circles are worshipped as portals between this world and another,” said Jamie, biting his lip as he cast his mind back to that impenetrable barrier that had separated him from Claire. “In the same way that natural water courses were in the past. There’s many a rusting sword to be found in a ditch or stream – thrown in as an offering to past chieftains.”

“And the bogs of Ireland no doubt,” John shuddered as memories of sprites that haunted those bogs came back to unnerve him. “What about the nature of these other worlds? What do the worshippers believe?”

“When I was a young lad, I was told it was a world where our ancestors lived – beyond death,” answered Jamie. Closing his eyes, he could see Claire, her own amber coloured eyes filling with tears as she disappeared from his life. He muttered a prayer under his breath – for her safety and that of their child. “But I ken fer a fact that some portals lead forward in time, no’ back. They lead to a world where our descendants live.”

“How do you know this for a fact?” asked John, intrigued, yet convinced of the veracity of Jamie’s statement. Despite his own sceptical nature, he had complete trust in Jamie’s word and if he said he had witnessed something, he would not doubt it. There was also a haunted look on Jamie’s face, one that spoke of loss.

“I ken, because that’s where my Claire came from. And that’s where she went back to,” replied Jamie. He smiled sadly as he felt John grasp his knee in sympathy for his loss. “I watched her step thro’ that portal and out o’ my life."

"As she crossed through, I heard buzzing and humming. It was like a swarm o’-”

“Bees!” exclaimed John, fearfully, recalling the sound he had heard himself.

“Aye – that!” Jamie opened his eyes and sat forward, reaching out to John, the implication of his admission scaring him. “So ye heard the buzzing, too?”

“So loud I could not hear you calling for me,” explained John, his eyes wide as the terror of the moment revisited him. “I was not aware of how close you were, not until you pulled me away.”

“What did ye feel?” asked Jamie, anxiously, grabbing hold of John’s shoulder, as if to hold him in place. “When ye placed yer hands on that stone?”

“It was cold, colder than it should have been, like ice.” John closed his eyes to bring back the sensations he had experienced. He had put those memories from his mind as they had ridden away from the clearing, at the time wanting nothing more than to get away from the stones. “And it seemed strangely insubstantial, as if I could push my way through. But there also seemed to be some force on the other side. I could feel it wrapping around my wrists, tugging me forward-”

“Dear God, John, if ye’d ha’ gone through!” Jamie was horrified, he had not considered that there could be anything, or anyone, pulling a person through. He wondered what John would have faced if he had not been there to break him free.

“But this does not make any rational sense,” argued John. “Maybe I was affected by the herbs I could smell. Or the heat, maybe? Or lack of sleep- ”

“Nae, John – I felt it too.” Jamie interrupted. “To start with, I couldna pull ye away from there. Ye were held fast and it felt like the stone was taking ye from me. Ye must no’ go anywhere near any more standing stones. I beg of ye-”

“But the exchange? I must do it for William,” asserted John. He would willingly trade his safety for that of an innocent child. “The note said to meet at a stone circle close to Inverness-”

“Aye. Craigh na Dun.” The very name of the place made Jamie shudder. It had brought Claire to him and taken her away. “Where my dear wife passed over.”

Jamie sighed heavily and got to his feet. He had to give John time to absorb what he had told him, and he also needed a moment to himself. It had been his insistence that Claire should return to her own time should the danger to her and their bairn become too great. When he had left her there and returned to Culloden Moor, he had assumed he was going to die in battle. At the time he had not realised that the pain of losing Claire would be a wound that never fully healed. The fact that his son’s kidnappers had asked John to meet them there, where he had lost Claire, that sent shivers down his spine.

Watching Jamie pace from one tree to another, John bit his lip and fidgeted with a pinecone he had picked up from the carpet of pine needles. He waited, patiently, until Jamie sat down once more, before saying what was on his mind:

“So, when you told me, all those years ago, that you had lost your wife, you never meant that she had died.” John thought back to that evening in Ardsmuir where they had both spoken of loved ones lost and he had offered mutual comfort, only to suffer harsh rejection. His loved one _had_ died, but Jamie’s had _not_.

“She’s as good as dead to me, John.” Jamie pursed his lips together as he admitted the sad truth. _If she were going to come back to him, surely she would have done by now._ It could only mean that she believed he had died at Culloden and that there was no point in returning. “And she’ll no’ be born for another one hundred and fifty years.”

John nodded his head, although he was still trying to come to terms with the concept of Jamie’s wife having come from a future time. It explained why she had used the term ‘sandwich’ long before the earl had developed bad habits, such as gambling at the Hellfire Club. 

“What if she were to come back?” asked John. He was not sure how he would feel about that – to lose Jamie after having got so much closer.

The possibility that Jamie’s wife could return to him surely overshadowed any future relationship he had considered possible with the man. John was torn between hope for Jamie and despair for himself. Jamie was – to all intents and purposes- still married. That put a different perspective on whatever it was that was developing between them. Whatever it was, it was more than friendship. He bit his lip as he thought of the past few days, in which they had slept in each other’s arms and shared kisses and declarations of love.

“It’s been twenty years since I last saw her.” Jamie shook his head, understanding some of what must have been going through John’s head. It also struck him that the child that Claire had borne for him would now be only a couple of years younger than he had been when he first met Claire. He had been with Claire only three years and had known John a lot longer, something he felt he needed to tell the man: “I’ve shared a friendship with ye longer than the time I spent wi’ Claire.”

“That may well be the truth,” said John, acknowledging the reassurances Jamie was offering him, despite what his heart was telling him. “However, you are still very much in love with her, aren’t you?”

“Aye, I always shall be,” admitted Jamie. He was pleased that John understood, even though it hurt to see him look so forlorn. “But that doesna mean I canna love you as well.”

“That is kind of you to say.” John sighed and put his head in his hands. “I claim to hold honour as a virtue above all others. Yet I wonder if it is wrong for me to desire a place in your heart, knowing it to belong to another who may yet return to claim you.”

Jamie took hold of John’s wrists firmly and brought his hands down from his face.

“There’s nothing wrong wi’ that at all. Ye’ve offered me yer love – unconditional and unquestioning. I am honoured ye should love me.” Jamie paused to see if John was hearing what he had to say. He had told John he loved him and he had meant that. “Ye’ve kept yer word and no’ taken advantage. Not once. Ye’re an honourable man, John, never doubt that.”

“Really?” snorted John despairing of his own behaviour. “I am also a married man.“

“But I thought you said that you and Isobel, that ye didna-“ Jamie let go of John’s hands. He was confused. _Did John believe he was betraying Isobel by loving him?_

“I love her dearly, but solely as a friend.” John paused to pick up the pinecone once more, pulling away the scales as he shed more secrets. “On our wedding night, I performed my husbandly duty. And you may rest assured that I was both patient and gentle. The dear girl was so scared, especially after that dreadful encounter she had with that bastard, Wilberforce.”

“Ah Dhia! I am glad to have stopped that oaf from taking her maidenhood.” Jamie frowned as he recalled the night when he had left Isobel in John’s care, trusting him then, as always, to do the honourable thing. There were not many men he would have trusted with such a traumatised young woman, but he had known instinctively that John would look after her with kindness.

“Ye could have had yer own child, John,” said Jamie, the thought only just occurring to him. John had been a good father to William, but he could have had a child of his own blood. “Did ye no’ consider that?”

“I would have welcomed _another_ child, but, sadly, Isobel…” John trailed off as paused to reconcile his lost opportunity with his consideration of Isobel. “She was barely sixteen when Geneva died in childbirth and the horrors of that night stayed with her. She was so relieved when she discovered she was not with child. I thought her tears were of disappointment until she confessed her fears to me. She thought I would divorce her if she failed to give me a child. But we have stayed married, mostly to protect Isobel from being married off to someone who would insist on their conjugal rights. Our arrangement has been mutually beneficial. She has been a wonderful mother to William. He adores her.”

“I can see ye’ve had Isobel’s interests at heart, John. Ye’ve done anything to disrespect the lass.” It struck Jamie that his previous assumptions about John’s preference for men being linked to a fear of women was completely unfounded. John was not afraid of women, but for them. “I also suspect ye do have a love fer women, more than ye may realise.”

“You are right in that there are women in my life who I am exceptionally fond of and would be beyond distraught should any ill befall them,” answered John, honestly, thinking immediately of his wife, his mother and his sister-in-law. There were other young women he counted amongst this friends in London. “I hold them in high affection. However, as yet I have never felt the desire to seek pleasure in a woman’s bed.”

“Not as ye do wi’ men?” prompted Jamie, curious. He was less inclined to regard John’s relationships with men as perverse, not after some of the conversations they had shared in bed since he had arrived in Scotland. He had kissed John and enjoyed it. And he could not deny finding him attractive, both as a person and physically.

“No – although that is often just to satisfy a physical need.” John thought back to his most recent encounters in London, rushed fumbles in the darkness of Hyde Park late at night and in the alleys around Seven Dials. “I have found to my cost that it does not pay to become too attached or fond of a male lover.”

“That sounds like a verra lonely life ye’ve been living,” responded Jamie, wishing he could take the pain away from John’s eyes.

“I’ve managed well enough and avoided the noose – so far.”

The dreadful truth of John’s almost flippant statement hit Jamie in the gut. Although he had not often sought female company, not since that night in the cave near Lallybroch with Mary McNabb, he had been at liberty to do so with no fear of arrest, let alone a death sentence.

“John, ye ken it has taken me a while to admit that ye’ve a place in my heart,” said Jamie, thoughtfully. “Although it’s always been there, ever since that moment ye refused to take my life, when ye had every right to.”

“At Ardsmuir?” John smiled. It warmed his soul to hear that admission from Jamie.

“Aye, and it’s been growing ever since, despite all my efforts to smother it. As fer anything of a more carnal nature –” Jamie reached out to grasp John’s hands. “As I’ve accepted my heart’s feelings, I canna ignore the other effects ye have on my body.”

“Maybe, when this is all over…” John broke off from whatever he was going to say as one look into Jamie’s eyes confirmed that he, too, would want more than what they had shared so far.

“Aye. Let’s see what happens.” To seal his intentions as a promise, Jamie leant forward to kiss John. If nothing else, he felt comfortable, as he had back in Helwater, with expressing his affection for John with a kiss.

“Agreed,” said John with a smile, his lips tingling from the sensation of the gentle kiss from Jamie.

Taking stock of where their discussion had taken them, they glanced around at the crumpled blankets upon which they had slept, together. Smiling to each other, in acknowledgement of how close they were to cementing the physical side of their developing relationship, they returned to the object of their initial discussion. Unwittingly, John had set out a group of pine cones in a circle and clearing his throat, he pointed at them before continuing. 

“These stones, then, the ones near Inverness. Obviously, the people who have taken William, they know of them, otherwise why travel so far north? Do you think they know of their specific powers?”

“I dinna ken, John. But it can be nae coincidence that they chose that site.” Jamie shook his head, it had been troubling him as well. Craigh na Dun would always haunt him. “Of course, there will be a gathering there at the time, that would provide them with cover. An exchange can then be disguised as a casual meeting.”

Jamie scowled as he did not believe his own speculations. Both he and John had been so focussed on getting to William, that they had not fully considered the significance of the location they were being led to.

“What about the demand for specific jewels? Do you think the sapphires have anything to do with it – the ones they asked for? The one you gave me and Hector’s ring?” John turned the ring around on his little finger and gently rubbed the stone.

“Maybe,” again Jamie frowned as the light catching the blue sparked a memory. “Ifrinn! I didna say anything at the time, but, when ye were touching that stone I couldha sworn I saw a flash. I thought it was the light, but it looked more like a spark – between that stone and yer ring!”

Recalling the stinging sensation from when he had first laid a hand on the stone, John slipped the ring from his finger and held it up in a beam of sunlight that filtered through the canopy above them. He peered into the sapphire. He knew every facet of the stone and every scratch in the gold band. He found himself gazing at the ring every day, imagining he was looking into Hector’s eyes once more. He always felt close to him then.

But this time, he saw something inside that he had never seen before. Turning it from side to side, he could not imagine having missed it before. There was a dark inclusion deep within the blue crystal, in the form of a sword or a blade.

“Dear God in Heaven!” John went pale, his face blanched and he had to force down the bile that rose up his throat.

“John – what is it?” demanded Jamie, immediately at John’s side, thinking he was about to pass out. “Are ye alright, man?”

“Look!” commanded John, slipping the ring from his finger and passing it to Jamie. “That sapphire was clear and flawless. Look at it now!”

Jamie took the ring from John and held it to the light. He screwed up his face trying to focus on the gem. Needing his reading glasses, he pulled them from an inner pocket of his coat and perched them on the end of his nose. He gazed again, this time observing exactly what John had seen – a flaw in the jewel, long and thin, pointed, like a dagger.

Around them, the forest seemed to hush, the magpies ceased their chattering and the only sound came from high above them, a sudden gust of wind making the upper branches rustle. Dark clouds had scudded across the sun, causing the air to cool around them. Both men shivered, involuntarily.

Tucking his spectacles away and then returning the ring to John, Jamie got to his feet and held out a hand to help John up.

“Let’s go now. We can get fresh provisions in Calvine and there’s an inn there were I can get some more whisky.” Jamie looked across at the horses, who were also on their feet and pawing at the forest floor as if also anxious to move on. “We’re going to need more for the journey ahead.”

After rolling up their blankets for packing, Jamie handed John his cloak and then wrapped his own around his shoulders. He then retrieved the piece of heather that had fallen from his cloak and tucked it back under the pin he used to fasten it.

“Is that wise?” asked John, narrowing his eyes. “To wear an emblem of the Pretender in a public place? It is an arrestable offence.”

“’Tis no’ but a piece of heather, John. Or would ye arrest me fer using the Gaelic to call ye _mo caraidh_ as well?”

“Of course not. Cumberland’s vindictive measures were an abomination. Driven by fear and hatred,” retorted John. Thinking that he was glad not to have been involved in the enforcement of the cruel rules, John felt sickened to recall that he had, at Ardsmuir, when he had punished Jamie for falsely claiming ownership of a scrap of plaid. “I am sorry, Jamie, but I cannot help but be concerned. We know that we are likely to encounter an army presence at major settlements along the military roads. Your sword and pistol may be concealed, but should you be stopped and questioned for wearing heather, you could be searched-”

“Let them try,” came Jamie’s response , accompanied by just the type of disrespectful grin that would bring about John’s worst fears.

Shaking his head in despair, John hoped that they had not tempted fate. As he kicked over a pile of pine needles and stones to cover up all signs of the fire that had gone out overnight, a solitary magpie landed nearby, turning over twigs with its powerful beak, seeking out the crumbs of cheese and oatcakes that he had brushed from his lap.

“Good morning, Mr Magpie and good day to your lady wife.” John greeted the magpie and tipped his hat to avert the bad luck allegedly bestowed by the sighting of a single magpie.

It surprised Jamie to see his friend’s reaction to the magpie – he had never thought of him as being in the least bit superstitious. He decided to keep to himself the Scottish belief that a single magpie observed near a window foretold an impending death. After all, there were no windows in a forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John left the bakery with fresh bread and oatcakes for the onward journey, having already purchased sheep’s cheese, dried meats and fruits. He tucked the provisions into the bag slung over his saddle. Just as he was about to check Kaphero’s bridle, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle and shouting from around the corner – in the vicinity of the Struan Inn, where Jamie had gone to buy some more whisky for their onward journey into the mountains. One of the voices shouting was very familiar. Leaving Kaphero where he was tied up next to Jamie’s horse, John rushed off to find out what was happening. He had an awful feeling that fate was in the process of teaching them not to taunt it.

John caught sight of two privates, in very scruffy uniforms, dragging Jamie from the ground, where he had apparently been thrown. They were attempting to shove him up against a wall, his hands held above his head to be pressed against the brickwork. One of them was prodding Jamie in the back with his bayonet, demanded that he submit to being searched.

“You will release that man at once!” ordered John, fearlessly striding towards the redcoats. “What is your business harassing honest men?”

“It’s the business of the British Army – not yours!” One of the men spat in John’s direction. “Who the fuck do you think you are, trying to give us orders? Mind your own fucking business!”

John breathed out slowly and committed himself to a course of action that could condemn him, but if he did nothing, Jamie would be searched and found in possession of weapons – an act in contravention of the laws imposed on all Scotsmen. He could be imprisoned immediately. John’s hand was forced when he saw the men’s commanding officer emerge from the darkened interior of the inn, a look of wary recognition on his face as he saw John. He was an older veteran, the type of soldier that did not rise up through the ranks, but who was retained to take on the type of jobs others disdained. John recalled seeing him in the company of Harry Quarry.

“Lieutenant Colonel Grey,” announced John, enunciating each letter ‘t’ to emphasise how far his rank exceeded that of the man he was speaking to. He tried not to react to the sight of Jamie’s head hitting the wall as he revealed his true identity.

“It is Grey then. I thought I recognised you. Sergeant Jackson – I served alongside Colonel Quarry many years ago, when he was in the Buffs.” The officer formed a half-hearted salute, deliberately disrespectful of John. He then turned to his men to berate them. “What the hell’s going on out here? Why haven’t you searched that bastard yet?”

“I ordered them not to, Sergeant.” John stated, clearly pulling rank once more. It was his only hope of extricating Jamie from the trouble he was in. “He is in my employ as a local guide. I sent him to the tavern to purchase whisky for me. Your men have no authority to search him.”

“He’s wearing the emblems of the fucking Pretender!” interrupted one of the privates, as he snatched the piece of heather from Jamie’s cloak. To add further insult, he threw it to the ground and ground it under his heel. John recognised it as a deliberate act of provocation.

Noticing the way that Jamie’s knuckles were turning white, his fingers clenching, ready to form fists, John took a step forward. When the redcoat reached out to rip the thistle pin from Jamie’s cloak, he had no choice but to intervene. John darted forward and grabbed hold of the man’s wrist in an iron grip.

“How dare you disobey a command? For God’s sake, soldier, you cannot assault a man for wearing a thistle!” Joh could barely contain his anger at the way Jamie was being mistreated. “Surely you are aware that the thistle is common throughout the Highlands and not necessarily associated with the Jacobite rebellion of twenty years ago.”

Dragging the surly private away from Jamie, John manoeuvred himself so that he was stood between Jamie and the redcoats, whose stance was only slightly less threatening than it had been when he had first arrived on the scene. He could not allow these men to find a pistol and a sword under Jamie’s cloak, or all would be lost.

“Captain, order your men to stand down immediately. If you fail to do so, I shall have no choice but to find you guilty of disobeying my orders as well.” John reached back and took hold of Jamie’s arm and squeezed it almost imperceptibly, hoping that he would stay quiet and let him try to talk them out of trouble.

“You didn’t say which regiment you’re serving with,” stated Jackson, regarding John suspiciously. “Out of uniform you’ve got me at a disadvantage.”

“The forty-sixth,” replied John, although that was not entirely true. Hal had unofficially told him of his intended position on being recommissioned and it was not one he desired at all.

“I thought your lot were all still in Havana?” Jackson pressed on, taking a few steps closer to John as if trying to corner him in a trap.

“Not all of us,” replied John, sensing that Jamie was tensing up, ready to fight their way out if necessary. “As you can see, I returned after the siege.”

“Then why are you out of uniform? Sir?” persevered the sergeant, desperate to turn the tables on someone he despised for having risen through the ranks, whilst he had not. He had the bit between his teeth and was not prepared to have a civilian challenge his authority.

Bristling with anger, John let go of Jamie’s arm and stormed forward to stand his ground. He stared the officer in the face, barely holding back from striking the man.

“My orders concern the gathering of intelligence,” stated John, keeping as close to the truth as possible. “My business here demands discretion and subtlety, neither of which may be achieved in uniform.”

Jackson shrugged as if not believing John and then he tried to call John’s bluff.

“Show me your papers then. Because, for all I know, you’ve been dishonourably discharged and have got no place telling me, or my men, who we can search and who we can’t.”

“How dare you question my position or my authority. I shall report you and your men on my return to London.” John poked at the man’s chest with his finger. “If you do not let us pass unimpeded, I shall have no choice but to recommend you and your men be despatched to the most remote outpost of this godforsaken country for the remainder of your dishonourable careers.”

“If you have legitimate cause to be out of uniform, sir,” said the captain, tenaciously returning to his bone of contention like a starving stray dog. “Then you will have papers to verify your claim, won’t you?”

“No. As is the case with most intelligence operations, I have memorised my instructions. There can be no risk of any details falling into the wrong hands.” John spoke quickly, thinking on his feet. He had no papers beyond the ones that Jamie had given him at the printshop in Edinburgh. “Why do you persist in questioning me? You recognise me, Sergeant. That should be sufficient to take my word as an officer and a gentleman. I have business that requires me to travel off Wade’s roads. That is the very reason that I hired this man as a guide.”

“He looks like a Jacobite sympathiser to me. I’ll wager he belongs to one of those outlawed fucking clans,” muttered one of the two privates that John had inadvertently turned his back on.

John looked behind, just in time to see the soldier slam Jamie into the wall. He could see from the tension in Jamie’s legs that he was straining not to lunge forward and fight back. Then he saw the soldier draw back a fist as if to punch Jamie in the gut. He knew that if Jamie were to hit back, there would be no helping him. The soldiers would then have an excuse to kill Jamie on the spot, claiming self-defence. Turning quickly, John grabbed hold of the soldier’s arm and twisted it behind his back. As he did so, he heard the popping of joints. The cry of pain did nothing to make him feel any remorse.

“I ordered you not to lay a finger on this man,” John snarled in the private’s ear. “How dare you disregard my orders. If you were under my direct command I would have you horsewhipped for such insolence.”

“But you’re not-”

John spun the man around and backhanded him across the face. He had been forced to exert his authority and be convincing or else all was lost.

“Grey!” warned Jackson, who was glowering at John, his face reddening with fury.

“For the last time, I have dispensation to travel out of uniform and you have no right to detain me,” stated John, as he took his place standing at Jamie’s side. “If you have any issue with that, you can take it up with my brother, who also happens to be my commanding officer. In the meantime, I will not allow you to delay me or my man any further. Good day to you gentlemen.”

Saluting crisply, John spun on his heel and took hold of Jamie by the arm. He walked off, not looking back or waiting for a response. He was ready to run if necessary and he could tell that Jamie was as well.

“Come, it is time we left.”

“What the hell have ye done?” hissed Jamie under his breath, letting himself be steered by John. “They ken who ye are – as soon as that bastard finds out ye’ve no’ got leave to be absent from yer regiment, ye will be hunted down.”

“I know,” snapped John, staring straight ahead.

“Fuck. Ye were right about the heather.”

“Unfortunately. Meanwhile, I hope you bought plenty of whisky,” John added trying to make light of the situation. “I believe I shall need some as soon as we reach safety.”

There was a fierce look in Jamie’s eyes, fear and anger warring for control as he clenched his teeth and scowled at John. When they reached their horses, Jamie wrenched his arm from John’s grip and glared at him. Despite John’s raised eyebrows seeking an explanation, Jamie just shook his head, tucked the refilled whisky flasks in a saddle bag and mounted his horse.

John was taken aback by Jamie’s attitude, but was prepared to follow his directions as they set off on the road heading eastwards out of Calvine. Jamie brusquely explained that they could head north again once they were sure they were not being followed. 

They were on the road for a mile before Jamie said another word to John, pointedly ignoring any attempt to make conversation.

“Why did ye do it?” asked Jamie, having brooded on the matter for long enough to be able to discuss the repercussions with John. He could not help but think that a fight would have been a better resolution than having John do what he had done.

“I had no choice,” stated John, realising that his actions had angered Jamie, but failing to understand why that should be. “The alternative was letting them arrest you, which was unacceptable.”

“There are ways that couldha been avoided. But now – if they catch you, Christ, John! I dinna want to see ye hang fer desertion!” Jamie could not help but be troubled by John’s previous declaration that there was nothing he would not do for him.

“As an officer, hanging is unlikely,” said John, shrugging. “I would probably face a bullet.“

“Is that meant to reassure me?” exclaimed Jamie, not in the least comforted by John’s apparently nonchalant acceptance of his manner of execution.

“As we’re not actually at war, at least not the last time I checked, it will probably not come to that,” explained John, exasperated. “The worst I suspect would be a flogging. Probably in front of the troops – to set an example.”

“A Dhia!” cried Jamie bringing Mac Dubh to an abrupt halt. He waited for John to stop and turn his horse to face him. Growling under his breath, his eyes blazing, he shook his head angrily. “I shall no’ let that happen!”

The thought of John being tied to a post, his shirt ripped from his back and being whipped horrified Jamie. Having suffered such a fate, on more than one occasion, he could not bear the thought of John being punished in that way – not for leaving his post to save his son and definitely not for revealing his identity in order to spare him from arrest. 

“Jamie-” blurted John, looking aghast. He could not fathom why Jamie was so enraged.

“Not another word, John. I canna bear to speak to ye.” Jamie spurred his horse to trot on. He heard John swear under his breath before urging Kaphero to move on, but did not turn to look at him.

In truth, Jamie was as angry at himself and the damn British Army as he was with John. If only he had not insisted on wearing that great big sprig of heather and not made any attempt to hide it when he had seen those redcoats in the tavern. If only he had not chosen to greet the landlord in Gaelic. But that bastard sergeant had still recognised John. It was not John’s fault at all, yet he had taken out his anger on him and there was more still boiling away within him.

As they rode onwards, looking for the track that would re-join the one they had intended to take out of Calvine, Jamie contemplated their route and the potential dangers ahead. At both Kingussie and Inverness there were large outposts of the British Army. If word reached either of them that John Grey was to be detained, Jamie would fight tooth and nail to keep him free.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the second half of this chapter is borderline explicit.
> 
> Fills my "Jamie/John" square for the Outlander Bingo 2020 - now more than friends who love each other and closer to lovers that are friends. (Therefore / and not & !)

** Chapter 9 **

They travelled without speaking to one another for several hours. John following several yards behind Jamie most of the time as the route was often too narrow to allow them to ride side by side, which was a blessing as it saved them from feeling forced to communicate.

John could tell by the set of Jamie’s shoulders that he was still silently seething, and he had the good sense to let him be and not challenge his sullen behaviour. It suited them both, for he too, had things on his mind. Principally, how he could make sure that Jamie would be able to continue and rescue William should he be detained by at a military outpost at any stage on their journey from Kingussie to Inverness. He thought that they were unlikely to be challenged as they crossed the Cairngorm Mountain range, avoiding Wade’s roads around the periphery, but they would have to pass through settlements with garrisons at some point. John formulated various plans in his head before settling on one that presented greatest potential for success, he could predict that Jamie would not agree to it, so he decided to keep it to himself until it was necessary. He needed to feel confident that at least one of them would get to that damn stone circle, with the ransom demanded, in time for the solstice. Whatever the cost.

Fortunately, the route they were taking required so much concentration, that any lack of conversation was not as uncomfortable as it may otherwise have been. After they left the road leading out of Calvine and headed northwards, they had to trek upstream, leading their horses carefully along the courses of burns that gurgled and bubbled with waters arising from springs deep in the mountains. John’s eyes had been so fixed on either the ground in front of him or the back end of Mac Dubh that he did barely noticed the countryside they passed through, or the fact that the densely wooded valleys between Calvine and Blair Atholl gave way to a more sparsely vegetated, barren landscape.

It was late afternoon when they tackled such a steep incline that they had to dismount and lead the horses, all the while making sure that neither man nor beast stumbled or fell. A task that John ruefully considered would have been much easier if they had been working together. When they had reached the top of that climb, Jamie several minutes ahead of John, they stopped for a break – allowing the horses to rest and for them to sit down and take some refreshment. Jamie removed the bag of provisions from Kaphero and after taking what he wanted, tossed it to the ground near to where John was sitting. At that point, a shortness of breath was scant justification for the lack of verbal communication between the two men.

John had cast aside his cloak, having become quite warm clambering up the rock-strewn hill side. From his seat on a patch of shorter vegetation, he gazed out across the mountains ahead of them and wondered how Jamie knew exactly where to go in order to access the pass they were heading for. He had never been this far into the Highlands of Scotland since he had first encountered Jamie at the Corrieyairack Pass and that had been close to one of the military roads. He glanced across at Jamie, unsurprised to find himself confronted with the man’s back – as clear an indication as any that he was still not ready to talk to John, and certainly unwilling to even face him.

John sighed to himself and looked away, intending to pick up the food bag from where he had set it down, however, before he did so he caught sight of a small pebble by his feet, which seemed to glint in the sunlight. He picked it up and wiping it free of rock dust, he could see that one end was shaped as if carved into a point, with facets on six sides. Holding it to the light, he could see that it was crystalline in nature – the top was a dark smoky brown, fading into a more translucent amber at the base where the crystal seemed to grow out from a more amorphous lump of grey rock. On an impulse, he looked up once more at Jamie’s silhouette against the skyline, forming its own distinct outline as if emerging proudly from the mountainside. John tucked his find into a pocket as a memento of the moment.

Looking beyond Jamie, out to the west, he could see the sun beginning to sink behind the mass of one of the peaks. In the valleys, it would grow darker sooner as the shadows of the mountains marched across the land. Seeing Jamie get to his feet, John recognised the unspoken signal to move and picked up his cloak, ready to ride on once more.

The slope downwards, into the next valley, was gentler and the ground less littered with rocks, which allowed for the horses to break into a canter and for Jamie to put a greater distance between them. There was not another soul in sight, so it was easy enough for John to follow Jamie, ascending the next rise which was not as steep as the last. Taking the time to look around and finally admire the landscape, John could appreciate its majesty, despite its stark barrenness. It made him take stock of Jamie’s personality, forged in these high lands: strong, powerful, guarded, attracting fierce devotion and appearing impenetrable to the outside, yet having routes to its heart to those willing to seek them out. John smiled wryly to himself and swore that he would wait for Jamie to reveal the way to his heart, no matter how vexing that wait was proving to be. However, there was a limit to his patience with Jamie’s silent treatment. He would not tolerate that past sunset.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They eventually came across a massive heap of rocks and boulders in the lee of a hill, sheltered from the prevailing winds. This was where Jamie signalled they should stop – with a raised hand, not a word. Their shadows had grown ever longer, finally disappearing as the sun slipped behind the mountains and failed to return. Once John caught up, he looked around, wondering why they had stopped there. It was then, as he steered Kaphero around the mound of stones that he could see that it was a crudely formed shelter, and that there was, in fact, a makeshift wooden door frame at one end.

“Shepherd’s shelter.” Jamie stated. The first two words he had spoken to John since they had set off from the road out of Calvine. He then proceeded to swing a leg over the hindquarters of Mac Dubh and dismounted awkwardly, stiff from the hard ride.

Watching on as Jamie turned his back on him once more, John decided that the time had come, that he had exercised as much tolerance as was humanly possible, using all of his finely tuned skills in diplomacy to weather the cold shoulder he had endured for a whole day. No matter what the outcome, he knew that he needed to confront Jamie before nightfall, when they needed to be looking out for each other. He quickly got down from Kaphero, snagged the reins over a twisted shrub and then stormed over to accost Jamie as soon as he had his own horse secured.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell I have done to offend you so much that you can neither look at me nor speak to me?” demanded John, reaching out to grab hold of Jamie’s arm to stop him in his tracks.

“If ye dinna ken, then I’m no ‘ going to tell ye,” growled Jamie, taking hold of John’s hand and prising it from his arm.

“As you have barely spoken a word to me since morning, it is rather difficult to work out what is going on in your bloody head!” countered John, stepping in front of Jamie to block his way, determined not to let him pass.

“And ye canna think why I dinna want to speak to ye?” Jamie spoke slowly, biting the words out a few at a time. His pupils had dilated, the stormy blue irises appearing to edge away from the darkness as if sensing the danger – much as John could.

Knowing he could either make an educated guess or feign total ignorance, John decided on the former, realising that neither would be likely to appease Jamie, not when he was in such an antagonistic mood.

“Is it because I had to act like an army officer to secure your freedom?” asked John, thinking back to the incident in Calvine. “Surely you know that was my only option. I had to do that to save your arse!”

“Aye – and how do ye think that made me feel?” snarled Jamie, indicating that John’s guess had not been far from the mark. “Here, I was a Laird in my own right, just as ye are a bloody Lord! But I am expected tae bow and scrape tae the fucking English - including you! Hauled out into the street like a common criminal fer wearing a piece of heather and speaking my mother tongue in the land o’ my birth!”

“As I saw it you were getting ready to take on all three of them!” countered John, having witnessed the look in Jamie’s eyes as he had been manhandled outside the tavern. Even with his hat tipped forward over his face, John had seen the glint in Jamie’s eyes. He knew that look well and it was one that proceeded an act of violence, each and every time. “If I had not intervened you would have fought back and- ”

“Aye, I would have. I’d ha’ defended my own honour, like a man!” shouted Jamie. “ Wi’ no need fer the help of Lieutenant Colonel fucking Grey! Even if it meant shooting one o’ the bastards!”

“Really?” exclaimed John, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Over a bloody piece of heather?”

Jamie snorted angrily and, in the cooling air, John saw the exhaled breath being emitted from his flared nostrils, like steam, or smoke. For an instant, Jamie looked for all the world like a Viking dragon on the bow of a long ship – about to lay waste to him. John could sense that he had pushed Jamie close to the edge but resigned himself to the fact that it was probably better to fight him than to be ignored by him, as long as he could escape permanent injury.

“It’s no’ just a bloody piece of heather – it’s what it represents!” Jamie shoved John in the chest, pushing him away and then, changing his mind, grabbed hold of a fistful of wool and reeled him back in, forcefully, until there was barely an inch between their faces. “And ye’d ken that if ye understood anything about me at all.”

“Oh, do not misjudge me, I understand that you are a proud and stubborn son of a bitch,” responded John, glowering in return, determined not to let Jamie intimidate him. “What I fail to understand is why you would choose to act in a way that puts William’s life at risk!”

“How dare ye make this about _my_ son!” Jamie spat the words out between clenched teeth, a spray of saliva hitting John in the face.

The possessive use of the word ‘my’ did not go undetected by John, who chose to let that pass, even though it made his heart ache. Since Edinburgh they had both referred to William as ‘their’ son, yet Jamie was so angry, that he had excluded him from that relationship.

“I dare mention William, because your actions put our rescue mission at risk!” snapped John, taking hold of Jamie’s wrists firmly and forcing him to release his grip. “Damn you, Fraser! You stubborn. Fucking. Bastard!”

Jamie swung back a fist and would have landed a blow to John’s head had he not ducked and, wrapping his arms around Jamie’s waist, caught him unexpectedly and wrestled him to the ground. He heard the expulsion of air from Jamie’s lungs as his back hit the scree beneath them. John landed on top of Jamie and from his position of advantage, he grasped hold of the thistle clasp that had drawn the attention of the soldiers earlier that day.

“When it comes to the symbols of the clans, including the wearing or possession of plaids, you know my feelings about those rules. You know that I think they are beyond petty. You know damn well what you were doing when you forced me to punish you at Ardsmuir for another man’s crime!” John had hated Jamie for that, knowing he had manipulated him into an act that devastated their tentative friendship. “But I warned you about this. Not because I agree with the law, but because I wanted to protect you, damn it! What the hell is wrong with that?”

Jamie grunted in reluctant admission that John had suggested it was unwise to wear a piece of heather openly, where he may have been seen by soldiers who would enforce the ridiculous laws. But he was still angry and needed to justify his rage.

“It’s one thing, suggesting I dinna wear the heather. But ye belittled me. Ye called me yer man, as if ye fucking owned me! ”

“What? Dear God, you are being contrary for the sake of it.” John leaned back to take a good look at Jamie, sprawled out on his back, yet still arguing. “Are you really suggesting that I had motives other than saving your ungrateful arse!”

“Can ye say it didna give ye a thrill tae be ordering me about once more?” Jamie taunted John, all the while adjusting his position in such a way that he would be about to force John onto his back. Then it came to him, the words that would unsettle John the most: “Mastering me? That’s what ye threatened tae to do was it no’? Master me?”

“What the hell has that to do with what happened outside the tavern?” demanded John, taken aback by the spitefulness of Jamie’s words. “What transpired in Calvine had absolutely nothing to do with your fixation that I want you to master you!”

“Aye? Ye made sure everyone in earshot kent ye outranked us all! ” Jamie announced as he hooked a foot over John’s ankles, grabbed his shoulders and rolled over, landing heavily on top of the man, pinning him down. “Announcing yerself by name tae anyone with ears to hear!”

“I had no choice. Damn you!” responded John, staring up into Jamie’s face, framed by loose coils of fierce red hair that made him appear all the more threatening. He had to take a deep breath to be able to continue. “That bastard knew who I was! It was the only way I could stop them from searching you. I know that type of soldier, the type that have no honour. They would have found you to be armed, they would have provoked you into striking them and then killed you on the spot.”

Closing his eyes, Jamie sat back on his heels and after getting to his feet, hauled John up and angrily slammed him against the uneven wall of the shelter.

“That bastard Jackson has not only yer name, but reason tae hunt ye down!” growled Jamie, angry that John’s actions had made him a marked man. “Ye humiliated the wee feartie and struck one of his bully boys. No’ that I blame ye fer that, I’d ha’ done the same if I were in yer place. But John-”

John felt the irregular stones dig painfully into his back. Sensing a weakening in Jamie’s resolve, he gritted his teeth to suppress the grimace of pain and pushed away from the shelter. He grabbed hold of Jamie to spin him around, using the heavier man’s own momentum to complete the manoeuvre. Then with Jamie trapped against the rough stone wall, John’s arm held across his chest, he leant forward.

“What else would you have had me do?” asked John, plaintively.

“Anything that wouldna ha’ put ye in the way of harm, John,” answered Jamie, honestly. He had been at his wits end worrying over the events of the morning. He had been helpless and John’s actions to secure his freedom had put the man’s own safety in greater jeopardy. “Do ye nae see that I’m as angry wi’ myself as I am wi’ ye.”

“Dear God, has this all been about your damn pride?” asked John, although he should have known. “Of course. You were powerless and you do not like having to depend on others to put themselves in harm’s way on your account.”

Jamie slumped down and as he did so, John moved his arm away, sensing that Jamie’s urge to smash a fist into his face had passed, leaving him unscathed.

“Aye – maybe. Partly,” admitted Jamie, reluctantly. “But John, on the road out of Calvine, ye spoke of a lashing as if it were naught. Ye ken I ha’ good reason to dispute that. I couldna bear to have that happen to ye.” With a shaking voice, Jamie confessed: “It would break my heart.”

From his slightly raised position on higher ground, John leant forward until his forehead rested on Jamie’s. He sighed softly and took hold of the other man’s hands in his, interlocking their fingers, taking care not to squeeze Jamie’s damaged right hand too tightly.

“My dear Jamie, you also know that – compared with a flogging – I have far worse fates hanging over me perpetually. One error of judgment. One foolhardy liaison in the park. One indiscrete bed partner and I would face the gallows. I have experienced the baying mob at Tyburn, hurling abuse and animal excrement, jeering at the men as they die. To be taken there and hanged is a fate that terrifies me more than a flogging ever could.”

“What the hell possessed ye to go to that damn place?” asked Jamie, horrified. Tyburn’s gruesome executions were feared from London to every corner of the land. “Christ – I never took ye fer a masochist, John.”

“I was there at the request of a soldier to be hanged for the offence of sodomy. The irony being that he was not guilty of that crime.” John closed his eyes and bit down onto his lower lip as memories assaulted him, including the dreadful bargain he had made with Captain Bates. “When the trap opened, the drop did not kill him immediately. He… dear God, it was awful. I… I helped bring about his death more swiftly. It seemed the decent thing to do – a final kindness.”

John felt the gorge rise in his gullet and shuddered as he was taken back to that awful day.

“Jesus Christ! I ken that it pierces the soul tae take the life of another to spare them further torment.” Jamie thought back to the times he had said a prayer and dispatched a man quickly rather than let them suffer a lingering death. “I’ve done that on the battlefield. It’s hard to do fer any man, let alone a man ye knew. At least ye spared him a prolonged death. Ye’re a good man, John-”

“Ah, but that was not how the crowd interpreted my actions. If it were not for two fellow soldiers close by, I would have been beaten to death for spoiling the mob’s entertainment. I returned to my mother’s house black and blue, and stinking of shit.” John rolled his eyes as he recalled his mother’s face and his attempt to come up with a reasonable story to explain his condition. “I told her that I had been mugged.”

Jamie shook his head and brought John’s hands up to his lips as he stared into his troubled eyes. So much pain and so much that could have avoided, were John Grey not such a selfless man.

“Mo charaid, yer willingness to rush to the aid of others is going to get ye killed one day.” Jamie pronounced, solemnly, fearing it to be the man’s fate. Yet again that image of John, bleeding, fallen to the ground in the shadow of a large standing stone, came to Jamie’s mind. “Ye’re too noble fer yer own damn good.”

Standing there, holding John’s hands, Jamie saw how the setting sun was casting a red glow to the undersides of a few scattered clouds. It was then that Jamie realised he had squandered a whole day with John, instead of enjoying his company, he had turned his back on his dearest of friends, refused to speak to him and ridden away from him whenever the opportunity arose.

 _For what? Anger at John for his willingness to sacrifice his freedom for Jamie’s life? Anger at the British Army for enforcing draconian rules and crushing the highlanders in the wake of the defeat of the Jacobite rising?_ John had been but a boy then, barely seventeen years of age and he had lost someone he loved at that battle. John was not to blame. He was a good man. He had put his life on the line to get Jamie away to safety before his own foolish pride and anger lost him his freedom and possibly his life. And John had made a valid point – _where would that have left William?_ To get William back safely they needed to work together, as a team, as partners. He had almost let his pride cost them their best chance of saving their boy.

Jamie was not surprised to see that John was patiently watching him, giving him time to process his thoughts. The man deserved an olive branch, if not a great deal more.

“Ye’re right, of course ye are,” admitted Jamie, squeezing John’s hands before releasing them. “I’ve been an ungrateful bastard and an insufferable idiot. Will ye forgive me, mo charaid?”

“Always,” replied John, as if it was self-evident that his capacity for forgiveness towards Jamie was without limit.

As the air around them seemed to settle, John picked up on yet another change in Jamie’s mood to something almost playful. The twinkle in his eyes was more mischievous than malevolent and John wondered what on earth was going through the man’s mind. 

“Tae be honest wi’ ye, when ye were pulling rank on that bastard and when ye slapped that insolent shit around the face…” Jamie chuckled to himself as he broke into a wide grin, his expression indicating a mixture of admiration and desire. “It was a verra … arousing … display.”

Jamie clasped a hand around the back of John’s neck and pulled him closer. With a smile, he tilted his head to kiss John on the mouth. He had meant it to be a chaste kiss, a brushing of lips, but the adrenaline that had been building up all day had to find release and before he knew it he was grasping at John’s clothes, desperate to feel skin, as he plunged his tongue deep into John’s mouth, letting it vie for control with John’s. He was relieved to note that there was nothing one-sided about the need for physical release, John’s hands were also tugging at his clothing, pulling aside his cloak, reaching under his coat and pushing hands down the back of his breeches, to clasp his bare arse.

Gasping for breath, John paused to seek permission:

“You did say the other morning-” said John, referring to Jamie’s offer in return for having lain hands on him under the blankets.

“Aye – I did. I’ll no’ object,” confirmed Jamie, breaking away, also breathless. “Grab a handful, John, by all means. But ye’d better expect the same in return.”

Not waiting for a response, Jamie tugged John’s shirttails loose and thrust his hands into the man’s breeches. He grinned as he pulled John towards him by his arse. Confined under clothing, their erections rubbed alongside each other, the layers of fabric separating them being an unacceptable barrier.

“Dear God-”panted John, having not anticipated such a conclusion to their row, despite knowing of the passions that ran deep within Jamie Fraser. He should not have been surprised at the shift from being grappled aggressively, to being manhandled with more carnal intent.

“John? I want …” Jamie trailed off, unable to complete his request. His body wanted John’s, but he could not articulate exactly what it was that he desired. Jamie pressed a wet kiss to John’s mouth, hoping that John would understand.

“Whatever it is that you want, I shall give it to you,” John’s words were spoken gently against Jamie’s mouth. “Or let you take whatever you want from me. But, I set one condition. You must tell me what that is. I want there to be no misunderstanding. No cause for regret nor guilt. For either of us. Do you understand what I am offering?”

“Aye – I do,” Jamie nodded his head, not sure if he had said the words out loud. His brow creased slightly as he considered John’s offer – it was precisely what he would have said himself, two years ago at Helwater, if he had not been so tongue tied.

“Well, Jamie.” John leant further forward, caressing the shell of Jamie’s ear with the tip of his tongue before whispering: “What is it that you want?”

Unlike the occasion at Helwater, there was no question of either man not wanting the other, for any reason. The offer was unambiguous, and the tightness of Jamie’s breeches made the answer obvious.

“What I want right now is to rip off yer breeks, bend ye over and bugger ye sae hard, ye ken who masters who.”

John smiled. Of course.

**_Master me or let me your master be._ **

It had been about power. It was all about power. Since leaving Edinburgh, they had travelled as equals – as fathers of the same child with a shared cause. But their encounter with the remnants of the British Army in Calvine, and John’s adoption of his officer’s mantle had driven a wedge between them, forcing Jamie into a position of subservience, a role that did not come naturally to him. It had hurled their fragile, nascent relationship back to the time at Ardsmuir. No wonder Jamie wanted to take back control and even though John usually eschewed being taken, especially from behind, he would give that to Jamie, willingly. The thought of Jamie taking him had already made him harder than ever and the way that Jamie was panting into his ear made it clear that he was not the only one aroused beyond measure by the prospect.

Stepping back without breaking eye contact, John unfastened his cloak and slowly unbuttoned his coat, his nimble fingers skimming across his chest provocatively. As he slipped both garments over his shoulders, letting them fall to the ground, he raised his eyebrows at the way Jamie’s pupils dilated once more – not in anger but in lust. After moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, he quirked the corners of his mouth into a smile that invited Jamie to take over.

“Then do it,” said John, verbally giving over control, as he raised his arms from his sides. “All I ask is that you use some oil – trust me, it will make it more pleasurable for both of us.”

Jamie did not immediately acknowledge John’s request in words, but he did pull a small flagon of oil from a pocket before closing in on him. John’s eyes widened as he wondered when and where Jamie had procured the oil, with obvious intentions by the look of the grin on his face.

“Will this do? I’ll need ye tae-” Jamie slid a hand into John’s breeches to caress the curve of his arse, hoping he would do whatever was necessary.

It was John’s turn to be speechless and he just nodded and reached out for the oil.

“Yes, I’ll-”

Not wanting to waste any more time, Jamie pulled his hand free to unfasten John’s fly and drag down his breeches and underclothing as far as he could, not wanting to waste time removing his riding boots. As John reached around with oil slicked fingers, to hastily prepare himself, Jamie unbuttoned his own breeches and released his cock, which twitched in the cool breeze, hardening further as he caught sight of John’s fingers disappearing from sight, sliding out of view. Admiring the lean limbs that he had come to know so well, Jamie removed his cloak and coat as well, tossing them to the ground to land beside John’s clothing.

“Give me the oil and turn around,” ordered Jamie. “If ye’re ready.”

“Ready enough,” answered John, returning the oil to Jamie, his hand trembling.

Jamie took hold of John’s wrists and placed his hands above his head, on a prominent stone in the irregular wall in front of him.

“Dinna touch yerself again until I say ye can.” Jamie kicked John’s feet as far apart as they could go with his clothing hobbling his legs. “D’ye understand?”

John nodded. Closing his eyes in anticipation, he wondered if Jamie had any idea how much he enjoyed relinquishing control to a sexual partner, but how infrequently he found one he could trust to take that power and not abuse it. Stephan had been that rare man he had always been able to yield to. With Jamie, it was different. John was surrendering not only his body, but his heart and soul as well. 

Dribbling some oil onto his hand, Jamie stoppered the flagon and cast it to one side. He rubbed the oil over his prick revelling in the feel of his hand sliding up and down. Then, with one hand firmly wrapped around John’s hip he pulled his arse closer. Lining up his cock he pushed forward, slowly at first, briefly anxious about hurting John as he met with unfamiliar resistance, and then more forcefully, urged on by the encouraging noises that John was making.

As his thighs met the smooth buttocks of John Grey, Jamie exhaled, unaware that he had been holding his breath the entire time. Seated inside John’s willing body, he felt warmth and a tremulous excitement he had not felt in an awfully long time. Sliding his arm all the way around John’s waist, he pulled him further back onto his cock, and then let his body take over. He may not have buggered a man before, but he knew how to fuck. From the short gasps and muttered expletives coming from John, he figured that he was doing it well enough. Jamie reached down with his free hand to take hold of John’s neglected cock, his oiled palm sliding up and down the shaft in time with his own thrusts.

If he had possessed any reservations about fucking a man, they had fled as soon as the tightness and heat of John’s body surrounded him. John’s willing submission to him was allowing him to retrieve that part of his soul that Black Jack Randall had torn away. To revisit the act in the context of love, desire and respect for this man in his arms, in the fresh air, on his land, healed a wound he had not been aware had been open and weeping since he had been rescued from Wentworth.

The tightening around Jamie’s cock and the coiling of heat in his own gut flooded his senses, blocking out all other thoughts, as he lost the rhythm in his desperation for release. His thrusts became both more erratic and more forceful, as he felt himself sinking deeper. From the whimpering sounds emanating from John that echoed his own, it was if their bodies had become one, each feeling what the other could feel, inseparable at the moment of coming, feeling each other’s building orgasm.

The silence of the twilit mountain side, only punctuated by the distant calls of buzzards, mewling like cats and the sweeter songs of skylarks settling in the heather further down the valley, was pierced by the cries from both men. Their uninhibited shouts of joy filled the air as they came, one after the other, John first, spilling his seed over Jamie’s fist, while Jamie came deep inside John.

Sweat dripping from his forehead, his arms aching, Jamie slumped forward onto John’s back, causing both men to collapse onto the pile of discarded clothing, loosely grasping onto one another. John turned in Jamie’s arms and accepted a kiss that was chaste, both men too breathless for anything more.

“I think I may ha’ made ye scream, my Lord,” said Jamie, panting.

“I could have sworn I heard you scream as well,” came John’s equally breathless response.

“Fortunately, fer both of us, there are nae witnesses to that!” Jamie grinned, as he glanced at John’s dishevelled appearance, wavy strands of hair loose around his face, a smile that seemed to reach from ear to ear and eyes brim-full of love and adoration. In the background, the mountainsides were lit up with a russet glow from the setting sun, a warm glow that matched the colour in John’s cheeks. Jamie drew him in close, one arm around his waist, the other around his shoulders.

“Ye ken that I do love ye, d’ye no’?” Jamie gazed into John’s eyes and fully accepted everything he felt for the man. There in the depths of the Highlands, he had made John his. Under the open sky, against the rocks of the mountains, he had committed himself to John Grey. “Mo chridhe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very much the calm before the oncoming storm - a chance to regroup, to talk, to re-establish the closeness of their bond before travelling further into potentially dangerous territory.

_The Garbh Choire bothy in the Cairngorms at night_

It was pitch black when Jamie woke, his bladder full and in urgent need of emptying. Failing in his attempt to ignore it, he tried to get up quietly without disturbing John. But when he reached out to make sure he was not going to trip over John when he did get to his feet, there was an empty space. Startled, especially as every day since John Grey had arrived in Edinburgh Jamie had woken to find the man in his arms, he was instantly on alert.

“John?” he whispered in case there were intruders in the vicinity. “Are ye there, man? Are ye alright?”

His voice seemed to echo back from the stone roof of the bothy, mocking him in its tone, only to be replaced by silence. As quiet as the grave came to mind, making his soul ache.

As he stared into the darkness, the weak moonlight filtered through gaps between the stones and, as his eyes accommodated to the darkness, Jamie could see that he was alone in the shelter. Feeling around he discovered that John’s cloak was also missing. Thinking that perhaps he had also had to attend to a call of nature, Jamie wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and crept out into the night.

Stepping out onto the damp grass, Jamie walked a few feet away to relieve himself before looking for John and, as he did so, he heard a reassuring chuckle from the other side of the bothy.

“Don’t frighten the horses.” John whispered into the night, a teasing note to his voice making Jamie feel more at ease.

Relieved that John had not been taken from him in the night, Jamie laughed as he called back into the darkness:

“I think that they’ve seen more tae shock them, than me taking a piss.”

Walking around the perimeter of the shelter, Jamie found John lying on his back, his arms folded under his head, gazing at the night sky. Although it was a beautifully clear night and the stars shone brightly even with the gleaming moon casting everything with a silvery sheen, Jamie had never taken John for a star gazer. He frowned to himself, wondering what had kept his friend awake.

“What are ye doing out here? Could ye no’ sleep?” asked Jamie. “I obviously didna wear ye out sufficiently, if ye’re up and about in the middle of the night. Although I must admit it is a rare braw night.”

“I was restless,” admitted John, without saying he had too much on his mind to allow him the luxury of sleep. “I didn’t want to disturb you. To be honest, I found that it is actually warmer out here than in that tomb of a shelter.”

It worried Jamie that they had both compared the shelter to a resting place for the dead. He wondered if that had been its original purpose and, if so, whether they had desecrated a hallowed site by fornicating against its stones.

Sitting down on the grass next to John, tucking the blanket under him to keep his bare backside from the chilly ground, Jamie took a good look at John. He could see the crease in his forehead that was always there when the man was troubled.

“What’s on yer mind, mo charaid?” asked Jamie, even though he knew full well what was keeping John awake.

“William.” The name fell from John’s lips as though it was always there, at the tip of his tongue. “He’s a clever boy, bright as a button. Whatever those fiends have told him… he will know by now that something is amiss. The only long journey he has made from Helwater was to visit his cousins in London last summer.”

“Aye?” asked Jamie, thinking back to the time he had stayed there with John’s family. “I hope that it was a less traumatic visit than mine was when yer brother fetched me down from Helwater.”

“Fortunately, he is still too young to be initiated into the Grey family intrigues,” said John, with a slight tinge of bitterness. Hal had, of course, been sceptical about his relationship with Isobel and curious about his adoration of the child that was not of his own blood. “You’ll be pleased to know that he thoroughly enjoyed his stay at Argus House. He got along famously with Hal and Minnie’s boys – they made camps in the gardens, climbed trees in Hyde park and sailed model boats on the Serpentine.”

Jamie looked thoughtful as he considered the games that John had encouraged his lad to play and was pleased to hear that he was encouraging plenty of healthy outdoor pursuits.

“I trust ye stopped those women trussing him up in a corset then?”

“Yes. Although he is not such a chubby boy now he starting to grow taller. I suspect he will tower over me when he is full grown. That is if…”

Knowing the uncertainties and fears running through John’s mind, Jamie patted him on the arm. He swore to himself that they would rescue William and that John would see the lad grow into a bonny young man.

“Has he learnt to hunt yet?” asked Jamie, thinking of his own childhood, when it had been part of growing up.

“Last autumn, I took him to shoot pheasant in the fields near Helwater. He bagged a bird bigger than the one I had roasted for your supper at Ardsmuir that time.”

“I hope ye had him eat it,” said Jamie, hoping that John had made sure his son knew that hunting was not just a sport, but a means to provide food.

“The one he shot? Oh yes – you will be pleased to know that I had him clean it and present it to the cook for roasting once it had been hung.”

“Aye – that’s good to know,” Jamie nodded his head, as he imagined his lad proudly carrying the bird to the kitchens at Helwater. “Does he ken how to fight at all?”

“A little – I had some wooden swords made.” John smiled as he thought back to his own childhood when playing with real swords had resulted in him wounding Hal in the leg. “He has learnt to parry and block another’s blade.”

“Ye’ve been a good father to him,” said Jamie, smiling even though he wished it had been him that had been there for William. “I shall always be grateful fer what ye’ve done fer the lad.”

Suddenly, John shivered, a full body shiver, and it was not clear whether it was from the cold air, or fears that still plagued him. Jamie held a hand to John’s face and frowned.

“Ye’re verra cold, John – ye’ll catch yer death if we dinna warm ye up.”

“I had thought of lighting a fire but could find nothing to burn.” John shrugged and rubbed his arms in an attempt to ward off the chill.

“Aye well, probably just as well, a fire would be visible fer miles from up here.” Jamie was glad that John had not lit a fire – although their route was less well frequented than the main passes, it would not do for their position to be revealed. There were bandits and robbers who roamed the Highlands avoiding the military in the same way that they were.

“That thought also occurred to me,” said John, sitting up to lean against the wall of the shelter. “Was it just my imagination that it is warmer out here?”

“Nae, ye were right,” replied Jamie, reaching across to ruffle John’s hair. “It is warmer out here than inside that damn cairn. I’ll fetch the blankets and that canvas sheet. Make a space fer us both, will ye?”

Jamie sprung to his feet and quickly ducked his head beneath the large stone lintel and into the bothy. The more he thought about it, the more the place unsettled him, especially after their experience at the stone circle the previous day. The large stone standing opposite the entrance reminded him eerily of the stone that had bewitched John.

He wasted no time in dragging all their belongings out into the open and then, with the assistance of John, laid the canvas sheet down to keep out the damp from the ground and then the blankets.

“Take off yer shirt and breeks,” instructed Jamie, even whilst unbuttoning his own fly.

“What?” asked John, not quite grasping why Jamie would want him to remove clothing when it was cold in the clear night air. “This seems to be developing into somewhat of a ritual, even though it is one that I am becoming accustomed to. However, it is freezing cold. Surely you do not want to – not again? I must confess I am perplexed.”

Jamie chuckled as he caught sight of John’s eyes straying southwards down his body to where his hands lingered over the buttons.

“Nae, John, although I can understand why ye should think so,” conceded Jamie. “Sharing body heat will keep us both warm. Bare skin tae bare skin is better fer keeping warm and it’s no’ like we’ve no’ seen each other naked.”

“There’s quite a difference between being naked whilst bathing and sharing a bed – which is what I assume you are suggesting.”

“Aye – we’ve swam together naked and slept together half-naked. I’m just suggesting we share heat. That is unless…”

Trailing off deliberately, Jamie winked at John and then quickly shed his clothing before getting under the blanket. 

Not needing to be invited twice, John took Jamie’s lead, setting aside his cloak as he removed the remainder of his clothing before arranging it on the roof of the shelter, to keep it off the ground.

From under the blanket, Jamie admired the way the moonlight bathed John’s limbs as he took hold of the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. The man’s arms and shoulders gleamed like they were made of ivory. However, the paleness of his skin only made the bruises appear more vivid. Jamie squinted as he inspected the bruising – it was blossoming darkly, along the ridge of John’s spine and around the curve of his ribcage. The shadows cast by moonlight also emphasised how thin John was, still too gaunt – Jamie wondered how much he had eaten in the past few days, guiltily realising that they had barely eaten since riding out of Calvine. He had not seen if John had eaten anything when they had stopped, he had been too caught up in his anger to check if he had taken anything from the food bag.

Jamie made an annoyed sound in his throat, which had John turn around sharply, his hands stilling on the waistband of his breeches as if wondering what it was that he had done wrong.

Clearing his throat to disguise the grunt of displeasure that made itself known, Jamie pointed at John’s back.

“Does that still hurt ye? Where that damn horse dug his hooves in?”

John frowned as he became aware of Jamie’s eyes on his body. He should have known that Jamie would have eyes like an owl’s, able to see through the veils of night.

“What- ?” he asked, confounded, until he worked out what Jamie was referring to. “Oh, that. Not so much. Only when I lie down on a rocky surface. What about you? How’s your head?”

Jamie frowned, knowing a diversionary tactic when confronted with one, but still found himself tentatively probing the lump on his head. Out of the corner of his eye he smiled as he saw John swiftly take off the rest of his clothing. But he was confused when John crouched down next to him and gently swept back a handful of curly locks so that he could examine the lump on his temple.

“The goose egg has gone down, more like a hen’s egg now. But, the bruise has run,” observed John as he traced a fingertip tenderly over Jamie’s brow and around his eye socket. “You look as though you’ve been involved in a bareknuckle boxing match.”

It occurred to Jamie that no one since Claire had ever looked at his injuries with so much concern. Those thoughts led him to think back to their travels through the Highlands on horseback – with her sat behind him, slender arms wrapped around his waist, head against his back, curling tresses streaming behind them in the wind. He sighed softly, wondering when those memories had become soothing instead of heart wrenchingly painful. All he knew for certain was that the journey he was sharing with John echoed those made with Claire. In both instances, the time spent under the open sky had nurtured a love that grew day by day.

“Get under the blankets, will ye no’? Ye’re letting in the cold air,” grumbled Jamie, as he lay down on his side and folded back the blankets, encouraging John to lie next to him.

As he got under the blankets, John felt the warmth emanating from Jamie’s body and sunk into his arms, allowing himself to be encapsulated in a cradle of warmth and protection.

“Do ye no’ think the black eye lends to my roguish charm?” asked Jamie.

“If I did not know you, I would take one look at that eye and the untrimmed beard and, after hiding my valuables, I would make haste to cross the street,” replied John, leaning back slightly to appraise the overall effect. “You look quite terrifying.”

“Hmmph!” grunted Jamie, indignantly. “I imagine we’ve both looked better. For a start, that scruff on yer chin makes me understand why Claire always used to ask me to shave. If it were no’ fer my own beard, I’d have a stubble rash from ye by now.”

Jamie rubbed the back of his hand against John’s jaw, deliberately brushing the bristles against the direction in which they were growing just to see the reaction.

“I apologise for my slovenly appearance,” said John, retaliating by rubbing his beard against Jamie’s chest. “Naturally, I would have shaved if only I had-”

“A trusty valet to do it fer ye?” teased Jamie.

“I was going to say a razor, but Tom Byrd would be preferable by far. I’ve never had such a fine shave as when he does it. I have no idea how he manages to do such a close job.”

The naivety of John’s tone gave Jamie cause to burst out laughing. He had a particularly good idea why Tom Byrd achieved such exemplary results.

“I’ve seen him shave ye, John,” explained Jamie. “I’ll tell ye how he does such a fine job. He’s dedicated to eradicating every single whisker on yer face as if they were a personal affront to the wee man. Mind, I reckon he’d use any excuse to get up close so he can gaze into yer eyes, all in the name of doing his duty.”

“What are you talking about?” exclaimed John, his mouth agape. “Not another word on that fantasy of yours, I beg you! As you well know, Tom is not that way inclined.”

“Aye?” snorted Jamie. He had seen how jealously the lad had watched over John when they had travelled together to Ireland and back. If Tom Byrd had been the one to catch Quinn attempting to assassinate John, the Irishman would have found that knife between his own ribs. “Ye ken full well that I wasna that way inclined either - not till ye worked yer charms on me!”

“Are you saying that you have such inclinations now?” asked John, wide-eyed. “And that I am to blame?”

“Dinna fash, mo charaid. It’s no’ all men, just ye,” confessed Jamie, shaking his head. There was just enough light to see the details of John’s full lips, and the dark bristles growing thickly above and around his mouth. He considered what it would feel like to kiss the man if he were to be cleanshaven. “And if it’s a shave ye’re after, perhaps I can help wi’ that. I have a razor and soap in my bags. Next time we’re near a burn, we can maybe shave each other.”

“That sounds like a very tempting idea.” John licked his lips as he tried to imagine any scenario which would have them sat close enough to share such an intimate act.

“Aye, that it does,” agreed Jamie, his eyes drawn to the tip of John’s tongue as it momentarily poked between his lips, before disappearing from sight, as if tempting him to follow.

John exhaled slowly and let Jamie draw him closer. In the safety of Jamie’s arms, his thoughts from earlier that night returned to him and he found himself once more contemplating all that had occurred during the course of a single day: he had heard revelations about stone circles that he could barely believe, Jamie had come close to arrest and he had been forced to disclose his identity. Ending the day with a bitter argument, followed by the consummation of their physical relationship. So much in one day. He laughed out loud, wondering if perhaps the culmination of so many events would successfully displace the previous associations that came every year with his birthday.

“What is it, John?” asked Jamie. They had been quiet for a while until he heard a sound from John that seemed like bitter laugh and then felt the dampness of tears on his chest.

“It’s just that,” began John, sniffing slightly, almost embarrassed by his show of emotions. “Before today, my birthday and the death of my father were inextricably linked. I came to believe that I was responsible for his death and that was why I had been sent away. Then, when we confirmed he had been murdered, it hurt even more. But now…” John smiled as he pressed a kiss to Jamie’s chest. “Now, I shall have other memories.”

Jamie reached out a hand to snag hold of his saddle bag and fetched out a flask of whisky. He opened it and passed it to John.

“To new memories,” Jamie indicated for John to take a drink and then took one himself. “We can celebrate it whenever we’re together in the future on this date. The anniversary of the day I first buggered ye.”

“You say that as if you’d be willing to do so again,” sighed John wistfully. He sat up to take a long draft of the whisky, feeling the burn on the back of his throat.

“Aye – I would. Does that surprise ye?” Jamie should have known that John would find it hard to believe that he had reconciled his religious reservations with his desires. “Did ye think it was something I’d no’ want tae do again?”

“I had assumed …” John shrugged, the pragmatic side to his nature suspecting that it had been a manifestation of Jamie’s need to resume control having completely lost it during the day. He did not doubt Jamie’s feelings of affection for him, but he also knew that he harboured staunch opinions about sodomy.

“Come here, ye eejit.” Jamie pulled John back down and into his arms, feeling the soft hair on John’s chest catch on the wirier curls on his own. “Think on it, man. If I’m tae be damned fer immoral behaviour, weel I was damned a long while ago. Some of the ideas that Claire had … aye, I suspect those were all acts that the church would have me burn in hell for. If I am tae be damned fer finding pleasures o’ the flesh, with someone I care for very much, who is agreeable to such acts, then sae be it. What difference will it make how many times I do it?”

“Does that mean-”

“Aye. It’s no’ sae different, fucking ye and fucking a lass.” Jamie felt his cheeks start to burn as he put voice to his thoughts. “Before knowing ye, I always associated buggery with the wish tae cause harm, with paederasts. But, now I can see that between adults and fer mutual pleasure, it’s no’ sae abhorrent.”

“I suppose that should reassure me,” said John, with a self-deprecating laugh. “That buggering me was not as repugnant as you thought it might be.”

“Humphh! That’s no’ what I meant, mo charaid,” insisted Jamie, desperate to find the right words to explain to John the change in heart that he was experiencing. “Although I dinna think I’ll be sae willing to be on the receiving end. It felt good tae me, being inside ye. It felt like we were one.”

“Yes, it did,” confirmed John, speaking softly, comforted that Jamie was not regretting what had happened between them.

Despite the awkwardness of their conversation in places, their hands were communicating with greater fluency. As they had been speaking, they had been touching one another constantly, Jamie’s hands had been running up and down John’s back, from his shoulder blades to his hips and then further down, cupping his arse, while John had focused on exploring Jamie’s chest and abdomen, the way his waist narrowed above that crease that led like a mountain valley inexorably downwards. John’s leg slipped between Jamie’s thighs, allowing their bodies to slot together closer and bring more of their naked skin in contact. If the intention had been to make them feel warmer, then nakedness had achieved that, as both men were totally unaware of the cool breeze that swirled over them.

“Humph.”

“Hmmmm.”

Tiredness was taking its toll, but as their voices petered out, their bodies continued to communicate, familiarising themselves with how each part of the other’s body responded – which parts trembled, which became harder and which parts yielded. Not having had the opportunity to wash, there was still a sheen of oil remaining in places, enough to allow their bodies to join once more. Their coupling under the moonlit sky was less urgent than the first time and much more languorous. Face to face, sharing whisky flavoured kisses and breath, their slow lovemaking allowed them to rest sated and warm, in each other’s arms once more. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They woke with the lightening of the sky, even though it was barely four o’clock in the morning. Quietly, as if fearing to make too much sound, they packed everything away, saddled their horses and set off across the slopes, aiming for the valley that Jamie promised would lead into the Minigaig pass. John was willing to trust him to guide them even though he knew that, if unaccompanied, he would have been totally lost in the mountains.

Reaching a steeper part of the slope, where the dew-drenched grass made the going slippery and potentially treacherous, they both dismounted to carefully guide the horses. Tucked away, out of sight from higher ground, they came across a small stream, surrounded by gnarled rowan trees and a miscellany of thorny shrubs. The water gurgled and burbled over rocks where it flowed faster, and as it curled around larger boulders, deeper pools had formed. John was startled when a grey wagtail that had been happily perched on a stone, looking for mayfly nymphs in the stream, flew off when it heard them approach.

Once they had hobbled the horses near enough to the stream so they could drink and feed on the tussocks of grass that grew close by, Jamie stripped off to wash in one of the deeper pools. John dipped a hand in to test the temperature and shuddered at the icy coolness of the water and then stared aghast as Jamie stepped into the pool, which hardly came up to his knees and crouched down into it, briefly sticking his head under the surface, emerging with a shout as he shook his head, splashing John with droplets of water that scattered from his wet hair.

Resigning himself to another chilly wash, John also stripped off and wrapped his cloak around him to wait until Jamie had finished – there was barely enough room for one grown man in the pool, never mind two. As soon as Jamie emerged, dripping and shivering, John gingerly put a toe in the water, and was about to slowly enter the water when he felt two large hands take hold of him under the arms and unceremoniously dump him into the pool. He screamed out loud, as the shock of the cold almost caused his heart to stop.

“You utter bastard!” yelled John, as rivulets of water trickled down his neck, glistening in the early morning sun.

“There’s nae point in going in slowly, John,” said Jamie, grinning broadly. “Get in quick and out again fast, it’s the only way.”

Jamie continued to laugh at John from a safer distance, as he briskly rubbed himself down with a blanket to remove as much water as he could. He was amused at the way he felt entirely comfortable around John, despite being naked as the day he was born and with his scarred back exposed. He was more comfortable than he ever thought he would be in the company of any man, let alone an Englishman and an officer of the King’s army – not after what had happened to him. He raised an eyebrow at the notion that he trusted John so completely. A trust that had snuck up on him and taken him unawares, in much the same way that a young William Grey had attempted and failed to do so all those years ago.

Taking Jamie’s advice, John did not waste time and grabbed a handful of waterweed to scrub himself clean. It felt good to sluice away the grime of travelling and the residual stickiness of their lovemaking that still clung to the hair on his body. After a while, the chilliness of the water invigorated him and soothed the soreness from their exploits of the previous day. Having noticed that Jamie had gone quiet, he looked over his shoulder to see that the object of his thoughts was sitting on the banks of the stream, half dressed, and studying him with intense concentration.

As John started to clamber out of the pool, Jamie got to his feet and came across, reaching out a hand to help him negotiate the slippery rocks safely. He then passed John the damp blanket to use as a towel.

“I’ve got that arnica ready. Ye’ll need more on those bruises.” Jamie pointed at a large, flat topped boulder for John to sit on and then proceeded to rub more of the soothing salve into John’s back and side. He tutted to himself as he rubbed the salve into John’s skin. “I shouldha done this yesterday as well.”

“What about your head?” asked John, suppressing an obscene groan as the large hands of Jamie Fraser slid over his torso, fingertips digging in gently to ensure the salve was thoroughly worked into the bruised flesh.

“My head’s fine. I’ve already put some marigold ointment on it.”

“Of course.” John shook his head, knowing that Jamie had picked up his ideas from his wife and the knowledge that she had come from a time two hundred years hence gave him pause for thought. “I recall the time you tried to convince me that the ingestion of green foliage would prevent scurvy. Herbal remedies seemed so strange to hear in that godforsaken place. I imagine you would advise that we should eat some of the watercress with our breakfast, would you not?”

Understanding the apparent non-sequitur, the corners of Jamie’s mouth lifted in delight that John should make links between herbal remedies and the eating of green plants and his wife, without even mentioning her by name.

Wiping his hands on the grass, Jamie stood up and passed John’s clothes to him.

“Aye, we should. That or some berries,” agreed Jamie. He had already decided that he would make sure John ate as well as possible that day – he looked no less gaunt in sunlight than he had in moonlight. “There are some blaeberries on the other side of the stream – they’re almost ripe. We could have some of those wi’ our breakfast. I’ll fix us something warm tae eat as well.”

“Is it safe to light a fire here?” asked John, looking around and seeing dead branches under the twisted trees that would burn well. He pulled his shirt over his head, already feeling the easing of his muscles from the attention paid to them by Jamie.

“Aye, a small one should be fine, as long as it doesna make too much smoke. I shall make us some parritch.” Jamie paused as he looked through the saddle bags, fetching out a small pot and a spoon. “Ye did buy the oats I asked ye to, did ye no’?”

“Yes, my dear, try looking in the food bag,” answered John, biting his tongue, but failing to keep his thoughts entirely to himself. “Fortunately, I had managed to complete my purchases before you got yourself embroiled in an altercation at the tavern. Only you could manage that without so much as a drop to drink.”

“Hmph!” Jamie kept any further comment to himself, choosing not to divulge that he had actually had a dram or two of whisky, drinking to the health of the landlord. It had been that which had involved the Gaelic exchanges that had been overheard by the redcoats, precipitating the whole confrontation. 

“Ah well, the least said about Calvine the better. A hot breakfast sounds like an excellent idea. I also purchased a small piece of honeycomb, it should be wrapped in some muslin in the bag. We can use that to sweeten the porridge.”

“What? Honey in porridge?” Jamie looked up, a burlap bag of oats grasped in his hand. He looked incensed. “A proper Scotsman takes his parritch with no’ more than a pinch of salt.”

“Madame Jeanne served it with honey,” murmured John, as he tucked his shirt into his breeches.

“She’s a bloody Frenchwoman!” spluttered Jamie. “She doesna ken how to fix parritch properly-”

“Well, I found it most agreeable with cream and honey,” commented John. “She may be a Frenchwoman, but she was the most genteel madam I have ever had the pleasure to meet.”

“Ye’d no’ say that if ye knew she was after fixing ye up wi’ a French prostitute!” growled Jamie, going pink in the face at the mere thought.

“I rather doubt that.” John frowned, looking up at Jamie with disbelief. “I suspect Madame Jeanne is well aware that none of her girls would be to my taste-”

“I’m no’ talking about a lass,” spat Jamie through clenched teeth. It then occurred to him that the reasons for his annoyance at Jeanne’s suggestion had less to do with the idea of John taking pleasure in the body of a prostitute, and more to do with his belief that John was looking for love and not just a willing body.

“Oh!” John exclaimed, with raised eyebrows and a look on his face as if he could possibly consider that option. “Oh well, if that’s-”

“Dinna even consider it!” stated Jamie, cutting him off. “I told her she’s no’ to find ye any nice French boys to play with.”

“That was very presumptive of you.” John focused on tugging on his boots and fastening the buttons, avoiding looking at Jamie’s face. He could already guess at the expression from the incoherent sounds he was making.

“What?” demanded, Jamie scowling. “I was only looking out fer ye.”

“Of course.” John smiled to himself, recognising the jealousy that Jamie had exhibited as one he had felt himself when any woman fluttered her eyelashes in Jamie’s direction.

Thereafter, they settled into their self-appointed tasks in a comfortable quietness, John gathering dry sticks and lighting a fire, whilst Jamie stepped over stones in the stream to pick a handful of bilberries. Once John had arranged a few sturdy branches to hold the pan of water over the burning sticks, Jamie measured out two handfuls of oats and stirred them into the water.

Once the porridge had thickened, Jamie stirred in the bilberries and they took it in turns to take a spoonful directly from the pot. On John’s side of the pot sat a piece of honeycomb which Jamie said he would have nothing to do with, even though John had seen him take a surreptitious taste of the honey infused porridge when he thought John was distracted by the wagtail returning to its perch on a rock in the stream.

Whilst they had been eating their breakfast, Jamie had set another pot of water to heat up, explaining that they could use it for shaving. While John washed out their breakfast pot in the stream, using bracken leaves to scour it clean, Jamie pulled a small case from his saddle bag and opened it to reveal a straight razor, a small block of musk-scented soap and a bone-handled, badger bristle brush.

“Why did you pack that?” asked John, looking up when he was satisfied that the pot was cleaned. His eyes narrowed as he took a good look at the travelling shaving kit. “And, more importantly, why have you only just decided to reveal its existence to me?”

“I wanted tae make sure I was well presented when we rescued William – I didna want to scare the lad with a great bushy red beard-”

“Just how fast does your beard grow?” asked John, teasing as he reached out to rub a few red whiskers between his fingers and thumb. Although he favoured a smooth face, he had been fascinated by Jamie’s beard and the way it framed his ruggedly handsome face so effectively.

“Faster than yours, I’d wager,” replied Jamie with a grin.

“I can see why you would not wish William to see you looking like a despicable pirate, but had it not occurred to you that I might have wanted to shave when we did have the opportunity?” asked John, mildly disgruntled. “When we were actually staying at an inn where hot water for washing was provided?”

“I didna ken it meant sae much tae ye,” answered Jamie with a shrug. “Yer chin was well stubbled by the time ye arrived in Edinburgh. Anyway, I thought ye were wanting tae grow it as a disguise?”

“Jackson saw through that straight away. So, it has failed in that respect. However, if he has raised the alert, perhaps the army will be on the look-out for two bearded men and let us pass by without question.”

“Aye – I can see yer point.”

Sitting astride the flat-topped boulder, bare to the waists at Jamie’s suggestion, John placed the pot of warm water between them, alongside the shaving kit. They took it in turns to lather up each other’s bristles and shave one another. Stropping the sharp blade on a strap of leather and then holding it to their throats in turn signified the complete faith they had in each other. 

“Hmmph, that feels much better,” observed Jamie approvingly. The feel of the cool mountain air on his bare chin was a welcome relief after the itchiness of the growing stubble had grown into untidy beard. “And ye look more like the Lord John Grey I ken.”

“So, you prefer me without the beard?” asked John with more than a hint of flirtatiousness.

“Let me check,” mumbled Jamie, as he leant forward to capture John’s mouth in a kiss. The taste of honey on the man’s lips made him glad that he had allowed him to add it to the parritch. “Aye – I do prefer doing this with ye without the whiskers.”

Having dressed first, Jamie fed each of the horses some of the oats and checked that their cuts were healing well. He then made sure the fire was completely extinguished and covered the sooty remains with rocks. Meanwhile, John got fully dressed, making sure he was as smartly attired as possible, before tying his hair back into a tidy plait and then pulling his hat into place. He could but hope that he would not look too similar to the man who had backhanded a spiteful infantryman and challenged an English army officer the previous day in Calvine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks a turning point, when matters become more dangerous for our heroes... be warned, do not enter without trepidation...

** Chapter 11  **

It was a steep incline that took them to the top of the Minigaig Pass at its highest point, even following the course cut through the rocks over the years by the power of water. In stark contrast to the previous day, Jamie guided them carefully, checking over his shoulder at regular intervals to keep a close eye on John’s progress. They travelled in the cool shadows of Leathad an Taobhain, an imposing peak that towered over them and when they reached the northernmost flank of the mountain, they let the horses break out into a cautious canter as they rode down the slope into the wide valley of Allt Bhran. When they reached the plain, Jamie signalled for them to take a break, to give the horses a rest. As John pulled up alongside him, Jamie pointed at the granite tor behind them.

“That’s Mullach Clach a' Bhlair,” said Jamie, glancing to one side to look at John’s face. He was pleased to see that John was appreciating the views, despite the urgency of their journey. If it were not for the fact that they were worrying about William’s welfare, Jamie would have been even more eager to show off the mountains. As it was he was glad to see that the landscape was making a favourable impression on his dearest of friends, whose complexion had taken on a healthier, ruddier hue, which he put down to the fresh highland air.

They stretched their legs after sharing some bread and cheese and took the chance to refill their water canteens once more. The air was fresh and the sun warm on their backs when they recommenced their journey, this time allowing the horses to break into a gallop, letting them indulge their natural urge to race one another across the open grassland. As they did so, the wind tugged at their cloaks as if they were black sails, billowing in their wake as they steered northwards, ever closer to Inverness and the chance to rescue their son.

When they eventually turned into Glenn Tromie, where the river rushed over boulders and cut through rocky gorges, they had no choice but to join the old drover’s track which followed the path of the steep sided valley of the River Tromie. As this was a busier thoroughfare, they started to encounter fellow travellers on the weathered track. Fortunately, most of the people they met were farmers with wagons or the occasional solitary horseman. They were relieved not to cross paths with anyone in uniform. John had hoped that any soldiers would keep to the military roads that went around the mountains and not across them.

As the shadows began to lengthen, they reached a low stone bridge and crossed over the River Tromie onto its western bank. Then they made their way uphill once more, until they emerged from the trees into an area of heathery moor. From their vantage point they looked across at the barracks of Ruthven, standing proud on its fortified hill that had once been the site of a castle occupied by the Gordon clan.

The sun gave a honey-coloured glow to the high stone walls, some of which still lay in ruins from the sieges of 1745 and 1746. The ruins would have meant different things to the two men at that time, but with both of them having run afoul of the army in Calvine, neither wanted to get too close to any men stationed in what remained of the outpost.

“There were thousands of men that retreated here after Culloden,” murmured Jamie, dipping his head in the direction of the fortress. “They were awaiting instructions from Charles Stuart. D’ye ken the message he sent them?”

“I’ve heard many stories of what transpired. But none from the point of view of the Jacobites themselves,” said John, cautiously, not wanting to upset Jamie, whose mood seemed unsettled. “What was related to those men? I know that they disbanded quickly.”

“Aye – so they did, after getting the message stating that every man should seek his own safety in the best way he could,” Jamie gritted his teeth as he imagined how that message would have been received by the men who had sacrificed so much for the Stuart cause.

“I heard tale that Charles Stuart fled to the Isle of Skye and then onto France,” said John quietly. “If that is true, then it seems a great dishonour to the men who fought and gave their lives for him.”

Although John could not support the principle that the Stuarts had a right to the throne of England, he had learnt enough about the battle at Culloden to know it have been a one-sided fight that the Jacobites could not possibly win. The bloodbath that had ensued, then and in the days after, was nothing more than carnage. There was nothing honourable about that day – and memories of it would always be tinged with mourning for Hector. As always, when thinking of his first true love, he turned the sapphire ring around on his finger.

“Ye’re no’ wrong there, mo charaid, on either point.” Jamie sighed. Having spent time with the ‘Bonnie Prince’ he was under no delusions as to the honour or lack thereof that the Jacobites had been shown by the man who had led so many of them to their inevitable deaths.

From their position Jamie pointed out the River Spey, lazily meandering across its wide flood plain, and the straggling settlement of Kingussie, overshadowed by wooded foothills to the north. 

“The bridge is right next to the barracks,” observed John, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. “I had forgotten that it was so close. That may present us with a potential problem.”

“We’ll no’ cross that bridge,” stated Jamie adamantly. “If we go upstream, there’s a place where the water is shallow enough in a dry summer to cross safely. It’s where the salmon are easiest to catch.”

“Forgive me if I misheard you, but I am sure you just referred to a ‘dry summer’,” said John, raising an eyebrow. “I can state from personal experience that this summer has been anything but dry.”

“Aye, but these two devils are tall enough and strong enough to get us across safely,” responded Jamie, reaching down to affectionately pat the neck of Mac Dubh.

“As long as they do not take fright at a fish and decide to throw us into the river,” replied John with a grimace. “I am becoming less enamoured of the benefits of being drenched in cold water.” However, it struck John that he would rather suffer yet another soaking than be apprehended by soldiers on the bridge.

“If only they could be persuaded to use their bloody hooves to stun a salmon fer us, we’d have a supper fit fer a laird, or two,” pondered Jamie, absently rubbing the lump on his forehead. “Ah weel – ne’er mind. Another time, when ye’re here, we’ll have roast salmon.”

“I would like that – very much,” said John, smiling wistfully. If they managed the impossible and both survived, even though the odds were mounting against them with each passing day, he would very much have liked to spend more time in the mountains with Jamie Fraser. “I shall hold you to that invitation if I may?”

“Aye – ye may.” Jamie smiled and nodded, thinking of how much John would enjoy Lallybroch – although he would have to persuade Jenny not to kill him in his sleep. “There are some more abandoned buildings in the woods near the river. Mostly overgrown and well hidden from sight. We should be able set up camp in one of those before going into Kingussie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a relief to find the sweeping meander of the River Spey as deserted as Jamie had predicted. Except for a couple of stray cattle, they did not see another living soul near the river. Jamie had explained that any poachers would be out later in the evening when it was easier to tickle the salmon and any other fishermen would had given up when the gnats and midges swarmed in greater numbers as the light faded at the end of the day. The water was shallow on the inside of the bend, but got deeper towards the further edge, where the water ran faster, with currents sweeping away at the banks.

Jamie took the lead, coaxing Mac Dubh to step carefully through the water as it swirled around his legs. Kaphero followed on eagerly, to John’s relief, he really did not want to battle with his horse again, the bruises still smarting from the night of the storm. There was sufficient light to allow them to see the riverbed without the reflections dazzling them or the horses. Jamie caught sight of the tails and fins of salmon, and sorely wished there were time and opportunity to catch one.

The clouds of midges bothered them immensely as they made their way across the river, seeming to locate every exposed inch of skin and a lot that was not. The horses flicked their ears in annoyance and swished their tails in an attempt to shoo the flies away, while John complained bitterly about them seeming to prefer his delicate English flesh, which had amused Jamie – his response being that it was his own fault for wanting to shave so badly.

Once safely across the Spey, Jamie looked to the west, to see the river lit up like a strand of sparkling emeralds as sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead. Then a kingfisher darted past – its sapphire plumage bringing the purpose of their journey to the fore of his mind, causing him to turn quickly to see if John was still behind him. It seemed that as the bond between them grew stronger, day by day, the forces pulling them apart matched it in intensity. 

They eventually agreed to set up camp in an abandoned farmhouse that Jamie knew of - it had belonged to a man he had known before the uprising. The family had always kept themselves apart and had deliberately selected a site that was well hidden from view. There was much to recommend it as a base – it had a well for fresh water and plenty of wood to burn, as well as a suitable building for the horses to be stabled in overnight.

After ensuring that no one had been near the place for a while – there were no fresh hoof prints or footprints in the muddy, sunken track – Jamie and John prepared it for their return, leaving behind items that could be easily replaced if they had to move on in a hurry. They had agreed to travel light that evening, just in case there was need of a speedy retreat. 

Before setting off for Kingussie itself, Jamie insisted on grooming the horses. It was important that they gave the appearance of gentlemen and not ruffians who had been sleeping outdoors for days. While Jamie brushed down the beasts, John took a rag and cleaned the brass on their harness and stirrups, removing mud spatters and buffing them until they shone.

Jamie smiled as he watched John working away – it occurred to him that he very much enjoyed the company of John Grey and that he made an excellent travelling companion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark when they approached the Duke of Gordon Inn, having stopped to eat at a smaller, quieter tavern before venturing further into the town. From the street, they rode through the archway leading to the large stables to the rear. Although the size of the establishment seemed incongruous, Kingussie served as a major stopping point for travellers on their way to Inverness by coach from York and, as John had predicted, it was busy with patrons.

Although Jamie was uncomfortable with the idea of going inside the place, John had argued that if William had been taken to Inverness, then the kidnappers would have had to come through Kingussie. The distances between suitable coaching inns would have necessitated a stopover at the Duke of Gordon. Jamie’s reservations mainly concerned the proximity of Ruthven garrison and the possibility of encountering Jackson again.

To maintain an impression of not being in each other’s company, they split up and entered the inn separately – John went in first, using the front entrance, while Jamie stabled the horses. Using the side door to slip inside unobserved, Jamie caught sight of John out of the corner of his eye and was pleased to note that he had kept his hat tipped down over his eyes, covering his face. He was deep in conversation with two older men, who appeared to be inviting John to sit with them at their table. Taking a tankard of ale from a passing barmaid who seemed flustered at being unable to locate the man who had ordered it, Jamie took a sip and looked around as if seeking an empty table.

Straightaway, Jamie did not care for either the appearance or demeanour of the two men. The taller man was a good foot taller than John and twice as broad; when he laughed out loud at something his companion said, he flashed a mouthful of broken, rotten teeth - the trademarks of a bruiser. The other man, to whom the other man deferred, was of a similar height to John, but thinner, weasel-like in appearance, not unlike Twelvetrees, and that alone was enough to put Jamie on alert. Both men wore powdered wigs that looked filthy and their clothes were stained with grease spots. Closer inspection revealed that both were armed with pistols, well-hidden to all but the knowing eye, and Jamie was certain there would be other concealed weapons.

The way the older man was casting his eyes over John, as if he were a piece of livestock at auction, reminded Jamie of something particularly unpleasant, although he could not immediately bring it to mind, but it made his hackles rise. Then it came to him with such a shock he had to press a fist to his mouth. It was that bastard, Randall. The way he had looked at Jamie when he held him captive in Wentworth Prison, intending to possess him – that was exactly how that fucking weasel was looking at John.

Jamie wanted nothing more than to storm across to that table and drag John back to safety. He had seen that particular look of lust before. It was the embodiment of perversion. The sight of it, raw and dripping with depravity, caused him to reflect on how actual perversion bore nothing in common with John’s love of men.

Having seen both countenances at close proximity, Jamie wondered how he could ever have accused John of such vile behaviour. John had often looked at him with desire and with longing in his eyes, but with the wish to give – to give of himself to Jamie, to give him anything he wanted. All John had ever expected from him had been but a fraction of the feelings he held for Jamie.

Jamie had witnessed evil and been the victim of another’s need to possess and abuse – he could only speculate on what the weasel wanted of John. Taking stock of the situation, Jamie deduced that while John would be able to fight off any unwanted advances from one man, he would not be able to take on that brute as well. Jamie got to his feet, the blood rushing from his head, his ears buzzing as the room seemed to fade away around him, his own sickening recollections of trauma competing with the need to defend John from a similar fate. He would kill those bastards if they were to lay a finger on his John. _His_. Damn it to hell, the man was his. He had possessed him, not in an act of violence, but one of love. A love that he had only recently acknowledged but one that had been growing for more years than he dared count.

Jamie stopped in his tracks when he saw John showing them the miniature of William and the two men nod their heads as if indicating that they had indeed seen the lad. Catching a look of recognition and shared glances between the two men, Jamie recovered his bearings and walked straight past John, brushing against him on the way to let him know he was close by. He then took a seat in a secluded booth, within earshot of the trestle table where John was sitting. As he sat back in his seat, focusing hard on making out the conversation, he heard something that made his blood run cold.

“You have not introduced yourself, sir,” stated the older man. “Do I, by any chance, have the good fortune to be in the company of Lord John Grey?”

The accent gave the man away as a Yorkshireman. Jamie wondered what his business was in Scotland. What bothered him most though was how John would respond. 

“That very much depends on the reason for you asking that question.” As was to be expected, John’s answer was polite, yet cautious.

Jamie felt his heart racing as he struggled to work out what was being said above the clamour of a group of men seated near the window. A group that was becoming steadily louder and more raucous. He could make out enough to piece together something about a message having been left at the inn for Lord John Grey. _A message? From whom? The kidnappers?_

Jamie held his breath. If it were a trap, John was walking straight into it. But neither of them could risk missing a message from William’s kidnappers, if that was what was being referred to so obliquely. It occurred to Jamie that these men may have been in league with the villains who had taken his son. That made him even more resolved to serve them justice of his own design should they commit any sin against anyone he held dear. It was then that he saw John showing the man the picture of William once more and asking another question.

“Well then, sir. Are you or are you not Lord John Grey?”

Jamie heard the man repeat his question. He clenched his teeth – and closed his eyes. He braced himself, gripping hold of the table to keep from leaping up to snatch John away from certain danger.

“Yes.” John admitted, finally, as if realising that he had no option. “I do go by the name of Lord John Grey.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” muttered Jamie under his breath. He dared not look in John’s direction, but he tilted his head down trying to catch what was said next, but the noise from other drinkers drowned out the whispered conversation that followed.

Jamie was relieved when he heard the scraping of chair legs on flagstones as the three men all got up from the seats. He looked up to see John bowing curtly as the other two men walked away from him and towards the stairs at the far end of the room. Jamie then breathed a sigh of relief when John walked across and took a seat opposite him.

“I take it they’ve seen Willie?” asked Jamie, relieved that John was no longer in the men’s company and wanting to have his speculations confirmed. “What did they say?”

“They say they have seen him, and I have cause to believe they have,” replied John, keeping his voice down, even though they were unlikely to be overheard. “I asked them what he had been attired in and the description matched the clothing Isobel said he had been wearing that day.”

“Thank God.” Jamie breathed out slowly. “What did he mean by a message fer ye?”

John blinked as if wondering how Jamie knew about the message and then smiled wryly, as it dawned on him that Jamie had been paying very close attention to what had transpired between him and the two unsavoury gentlemen.

“He informed me that he has something for my particular attention. He advised me that were I to pay a visit to the room at the top of the stairs, the one where William was kept incidentally, he will hand over a missive addressed to me.” John paused and took a drink from the tankard in front of Jamie. “At a cost to be negotiated.”

“What cost? John?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he stared at John. “What did ye say ye’d be prepared to give them?”

“Jamie, you know damn well that I would give whatever I had to give in order to rescue William. However- ” John paused to take a deep breath, knowing his next request would make Jamie unhappy. “Just in case the worst were to happen and they are cutthroats intent on robbing me, here, take my ring and the other sapphire.”

“Ifrinn! John!” Jamie growled menacingly. He really did not like the sound of whatever bargain John was preparing himself to make. “Ye’re no’ going up there alone. We go together, or no’ at all!”

“Do not argue with me on this matter,” snapped John. “The sapphires are a vital part of the ransom demand and one of us must have them in safekeeping.”

John winced as he twisted Hector’s ring from his finger and then unfastened the sapphire from his waistcoat. Taking hold of one of Jamie’s hands he placed the items firmly into his grasp, not allowing any further discussion on the matter. Jamie glowered, knowing exactly what John was preparing him for – damn him.

“Do not give me that look,” John met Jamie’s glare without blinking. “I shall be armed, and I shall defend myself if I need to. If I am not back in an hour’s time-”

“An hour? For Christ’s sake, man, anything could happen to ye in that time!” protested Jamie. “They could slit yer throat and have robbed ye within minutes of ye entering their trap! I will no’ wait that long!”

“If you hear me scream murder, then you may charge to my rescue,” hissed John, looking over his shoulder to make sure he was not overheard. “Otherwise, I insist you give me half an hour. For William’s sake.”

“Alright – but if those bastards-” Jamie swallowed the rest of his words reluctantly. What he wanted to declare, to anyone that was listening in on their hushed argument, was that he would tear apart anyone that dared hurt John Grey.

His misgivings were not based on any doubt that John could look after himself, but there were two of those bastards and he feared they were both armed to the teeth.

“I would be most grateful if you were to look after these as well.” John placed his pocket watch and the miniature of William onto the table. “They are, after all, the most valuable items I have in my possession.”

Before Jamie got the chance to present another argument, John had swiftly risen and was striding across the room. With a swish of his cloak, he disappeared up the narrow stairwell.

Jamie shook his head and muttered to himself about stubborn bloody Englishmen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie spent the next thirty minutes alternating between staring at the hands of John’s pocket watch, willing them to move faster, and gazing at the image of his son. He knew that the pocket watch had been given to John by his father the day before the man was murdered. For all he knew, John could have been murdered while he was sitting there on his arse. He scowled in annoyance at the sheer level of noise being generated by the revellers near the serving hatch. In some respects, he was glad they were only concerned with getting as drunk as possible as quickly as possible, as it meant they were not paying any heed to anyone else in the establishment. However, the sounds of jugs being slammed down, and furniture being toppled over, along with raucous jeering and shouting meant that he would not have heard any sounds from the floor above if John were to be getting into trouble. Jamie could barely hear his own cursing as he looked at John’s tricorn hat that he had left on the table and hoped he was alright. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that would not go away.

As he looked up once more, he saw that John had reappeared and was weaving his way through the throngs of customers like a ghost. His expression was grim and his eyes downcast. Jamie had been five minutes from storming up the stairs and hammering down the door to the room to find out what was going on. He had been going out of his mind with worry and one look at John confirmed his fears, making him rue not having acted on his gut instincts. On closer inspection, he could see loose strands of hair, broken free from the ribbon, as if someone had grabbed hold of John by his hair. His breathing was shallow and too fast – he was agitated and doing his best to conceal it.

“Ifrinn, mo charaid, what the hell’s happened to ye?” Jamie sprung to his feet and reached out for John, only to have his hands brusquely pushed aside.

Not answering his question, John picked up his hat. He pulled it down low over his brow, attempting to hide his face from Jamie. However, he had not acted fast enough, and Jamie had caught sight of his eyes, burning with an emotion he had not seen there before. Horror.

“D’ye have news of William? Dear God in Heaven! He’s no’ –?” demanded Jamie, assuming that bad news was the cause of the pallor on John’s face, for he was as pale as a freshly bleached bedsheet.

“No. No! William is alive and well,” stated John, curtly, as if he were trying to avoid speaking at all. “He _was_ here. I have proof.”

John grabbed hold of Jamie’s wrist, turned his hand over and pressed a scrap of paper wrapped around a lump of wood into the palm of his hand. It caused Jamie some disconcertion that, for some reason, John was wearing his leather gloves, which he had not been wearing when he had left the table half an hour previously. Scowling to himself, Jamie unfolded the piece of paper and gasped as he saw the note. It was written with a burnt stick by the look of the uneven, thick lines. It was smudged. But perfectly readable:

_Please give this to my papa. His name is Lord John Grey. W._

“Such a clever lad,” mumbled Jamie, grinning with pride. He then brought the wooden snake to his lips and kissed the back of it – unaware that his son had done the very same thing only a few days beforehand.

Still smiling to himself, Jamie looked up only to frown as he saw that John was quickly gathering his belongings from the tabletop where he had left them in Jamie’s safe keeping and cramming them into pockets instead of taking the time to return them to their specific places – even Hector’s ring.

“John – what is it?” asked Jamie, confused. “This is good news is it no’?”

“I … we must depart from this place,” muttered John, fastening his cloak with hands that were visibly shaking. He was nervously looking from the stairs to the door at the back of the inn, the door that led to the stables. “Immediately.”

“Why? What the hell’s happened?” hissed Jamie, alarmed at the hoarseness he could hear in John’s voice. He grabbed hold of John’s arm, attempting to stop him in his tracks, only to find it violently snatched back, out of his grip.

“John-?” Jamie followed John’s gaze. He was in two minds as to the best course of action – to follow John and find out what the hell had happened to him, or to go upstairs and force those bastards to tell him. Either way, he was going to make sure they paid for whatever it was that they had done.

“I have other information as well,” murmured John, quiet enough so that only Jamie could hear.

“And?” asked Jamie, not at all satisfied with the lack of answers he was getting to questions he dared not ask. He desperately wanted to know the cost of that information and yet at the same time he was afraid to find out.

“Not here.” With a barely perceptible shake of his head, John swiftly turned on his heel and fled from the warm interior of the inn.

Jamie swore out loud, apologised to the proprietor, threw some coins on the table and then ran after John. As he rushed to catch up with John, he carefully tucked William’s note and the snake he had carved for his son into a pocket. Knowing that they were getting closer to the boy made his heart swell with hope, but he could not ignore the growing concern he had for John. Something dreadful had happened and he had to know what.

By the time Jamie reached the stable, John was already mounted on Kaphero and was riding off into the night. Swearing to himself, Jamie quickly fetched Mac Dubh and after getting into the saddle without delay, he took chase – although John was out of sight, at least he knew where he was headed.

It was not until Jamie rode down the sunken lane that led to their hideaway that he finally caught sight of Kaphero. The horse was loosely tethered to the low branches of a gnarled hawthorn tree near the crumbled boundary wall. As Jamie hobbled his own horse, muttering angrily and ready to engage in yet another shouting match with John Grey, he stopped short as he heard the sound of someone retching. The moonlight barely penetrated the tree canopy into the hollow, but there was enough light to see movement. Darting forward, he found John, on his knees, one hand planted on the trunk of a tree, bracing himself, as he was being violently sick. Jamie could make out that John had brought up his supper and was still heaving wretchedly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, mo charaid.” Jamie crouched down beside John. He slowly moved John’s arm away from the tree and held him close, seeking to comfort the apparently inconsolable man. 

Turning them both around so that his back was to the tree, Jamie pulled John down into his lap, cradling his head in one large hand, while taking hold of John’s shaking hands with the other. In the moonlight he could see dark spots standing out on the white cuffs of John’s shirt – he recognised them as splashes of blood.

“Is this yer blood?” Jamie felt a cold shiver down his spine. “Did those arsewipes hurt ye? Dinna lie to me.”

“No,” muttered John as he held up the sleeve to inspect it more closely. “And… I am uninjured.”

Taking a good look at John’s face to see if he was telling the truth, Jamie just grunted. He knew well enough that not all injuries caused a loss of blood.

“Dear God, man. Ye look as though ye’ve sold yer soul to the devil.” Jamie paused to pull a flask of whisky from inside his cloak and, after opening it, passed it to John. “Here – take a dram of this.”

“Don’t ...” begged John, pushing the flask away and curling in on himself as if withdrawing from the world around him. “Just, don’t.”

Jamie shook his head as he took a swig from the flask before tucking it away. He had only ever seen John Grey out of control when it came to matters of the heart – otherwise he was cool-headed and capable of dealing with almost any situation without breaking a sweat. Yet something had broken him in some way – he was shaking and distant. Jamie recalled all too well the only time he had been similarly damaged – at the hands of Randall. It made him feel ill to think that there was any possibility that John had been subjected to anything of a similar nature.

“Come on, let’s take the horses up to the barn with us.” Jamie got up from the ground and held out a hand to help John to his feet. He was not surprised, but still hurt, when John did not take his hand, but leaned on the tree instead.

Deciding that John needed a distraction, however brief, before he could speak any further, Jamie led the way back to where the horses were waiting patiently. They then walked the animals to the outbuilding they had found earlier and made them secure before going inside the house itself.

When they got inside the abandoned farmhouse, Jamie sat John down on a bench that had survived intact and draped a blanket around his shoulders. Warily keeping an eye on John, he lit the fire in the hearth, pleased that they had taken the time while it was still daylight to lay the fire with kindling and some split logs ready to light on their return. After blowing on the kindling until it was fully ablaze, Jamie returned to John’s side and took another look at the man’s frilled shirt cuffs that were spattered with blood. Even though John had insisted that it was not his, its presence was still ominous, especially as John had hardly said a word since they had settled the horses for the night.

Sensing no resistance from John, Jamie reached around to unbuckle his sword belt before sliding the sword free from its scabbard. The steel blade glinted silver in the moonlight that came through the cracked window behind them. There was no sign of blood on it. Jamie carefully placed the sword back where it belonged. He then very deliberately set the belt and scabbard alongside his own, on the floor beside their saddle bags that he had brought inside earlier and hid in the bottom of an old chest.

Crouching down in front of John, taking care to alert the man to his intentions, Jamie tugged the gloves from his fingers and gasped involuntarily as he saw the bloodied hands that John had sought to hide from sight. Tenderly turning the hands that only the night before had caressed and coaxed his body to pleasure, Jamie saw dried blood in the nail beds and in the lines of his palms. It seemed that he had hastily wiped them clean but had not had the chance to clean them thoroughly. Jamie got to his feet to fetch a canteen of water and a cloth, and then proceeded to wash his lover’s hands, gently wiping away the bloodstains. Although relieved that the blood was not John’s, he was afraid of what John may have done, and what had precipitated any act of violence.

Once satisfied that John’s hands were as clean as he could get them, Jamie sat down on the bench next to John.

“Let me see yer other blade. That wee dirk ye carry.”

Jamie planted his hands firmly on his own knees, despite wanting to wrap his arms around John to comfort him. He felt that he could not do that safely, not until he knew what had happened back at the inn.

Wordlessly, John obediently pulled the small dagger from its hiding place inside his coat. Jamie could see the blood on it immediately. He dragged in a slow breath as he looked into John’s eyes. They looked desolate and unfocused.

“What have ye done, mo leannan?” asked Jamie gently, as he took the weapon from John’s shaking hand.

Jamie recalled the time Claire had used a similar blade to stab a man to death. A man that had tried to rape her. The fact that it was that memory that crept into his head made him feel sick to his stomach. The steel blade he was examining was still sticky with congealed blood that coated the blade and the hilt. He set it aside. He would clean it later. It could wait for his attention. John could not.

“There’s a lot of blood on that wee blade, and there was a lot on yer hands,” said Jamie softly. “I ken it’s no’ yours, so it must belong to at least one of those bastards. What did ye do?”

John bowed his head and stared at his hands as if seeking an answer that Jamie would understand. Clearing his throat, he turned to Jamie and stated the first thing that came to mind:

“I told you I would do whatever I had to, to find your son.”

“ _Our_ son, John,” insisted Jamie, worried as much by John’s wording as his meaning. “Ye’re as much his father as I am.”

John shook his head and tensed up as if he was going to get up from the seat. But Jamie quickly pulled John back down next to him.

“What did they do to ye?” asked Jamie, changing the emphasis, realising that if his suspicions were correct he did not give a damn what John had done to either man, not if they had caused him harm. He was struggling to keep his voice even, because inside he was desperate to shout and scream.

Wrapping an arm around John’s shoulders, he held onto him. Even as he felt his dearest of friends trying to struggle free, Jamie just held him closer and muttered words of comfort – Gaelic words he had first heard from his mother, words of comfort, as he would have used on a child. 

“They… they did not succeed.” John’s voice broke slightly as he said what he could without lying.

“Christ, John, tell me-” begged Jamie, his eyes welling up as he could only imagine what that pervert had tried to do to John.

“I cannot – I beg of you, do not ask,” pleaded John in turn, trembling in Jamie’s embrace.

“Dinna fash,” said Jamie, firmly. If it was going to upset John even further, he could wait. “Just tell me this, did ye make them pay for whatever they did or tried tae do?”

John did not speak, but he did nod his head.

“Are they dead?” Jamie hoped they were.

After a short while, John just shrugged. His detached responses were worrying Jamie even more than his more visceral reactions earlier.

“Aye, well murder is on my mind right now.” Jamie growled deep in his throat. He did not want to imagine what John had possibly experienced, he had never seen him in such a bad state, ever. But he did want to go back into Kingussie and kill the bastards for whatever they had done to the man he loved.

“But they will not try again...” stated John, biting his lip so hard it looked as if he would break the skin. He shook his head vehemently. “Never again. Not to another living soul.”

John’s words chilled Jamie’s soul, as did the haunted look in the clouded blue eyes that finally met his. John was a man who had once held a blade to Jamie’s neck and fiercely declared that he was not a murderer – not of unarmed prisoners. And Jamie doubted that John would ever take a life away from the battlefield, not unless it was in defence of himself or of others. As he contemplated what it was that John had done, he shuddered as it dawned on him what John was hinting at. Possibly a fate worse than death – one he had dealt to a man who had once defiled him. He was angry at himself as well as the men that John had dealt with. While he had been sitting gazing at that pocket watch, mere seconds from John’s side, the man he loved had needed him and he had not been there for him. He had sworn that he would protect John and he had failed.

“Why did ye no’ leave before ye had to defend yerself?” demanded Jamie, thinking back to the time he had sat watching the hands of the timepiece moving around so very slowly. “Why did ye no’ call fer help like we’d arranged? Why on earth did ye no’ get out of that fucking room any sooner-”

“Because they had information that we – that you will need to rescue William!” interrupted John. He swallowed hard before continuing. “There were conditions placed on getting all the information.”

Jamie’s brow was furrowed, and he felt even more uneasy as he considered what that perverted bastard had demanded of John.

“I told you when we embarked on this mission that I would give my life to save William’s,” replied John, fiercely. “There is nothing I would not give for the sake of that child. Nothing.”

“But, John-”

“No. What is important is being ready to take on the people who have William,” insisted John, his eyes appearing almost feverish with intensity as he took hold of Jamie’s hands in his. “If anything is to happen to me, it is vital that you have this information as well.”

Before Jamie could protest, John started to convey all that he had found out, as if afraid he would forget the details. The words spilled out, descriptions tumbling over one another as he got Jamie to repeat back to him each pertinent point, grasping hold of his hands tightly as he went over the details until he was confident that Jamie was as much in possession of the facts as he was.

Afterwards, John seemed drained of all energy, but he seemed more settled having shared all he knew with Jamie. Everything that was except what had happened in that room between himself and the two men. Jamie despaired of ever learning the truth.

Leaving John slumped on the bench, his head thrown back against the wall, Jamie set to arranging a place for them to sleep on the chipped flagstones of the farmhouse. Once he had the blankets laid out he coaxed John to lie down first, fully clothed, and then curled up behind him, draping an arm around his waist and pulling him close.

“Is this alright, mo charaid?” Jamie was pleased to feel John begin to relax into his arms.

“Yes,” whispered John. “Hold me. Please.”

Jamie wrapped John in his arms and hushed him. As he gently rocked him in his arms, he felt John slip into unconsciousness, exhaustion claiming him.

When they had rescued William, when he had John and their boy safely away from danger, then he would find those men and he would kill them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, Jamie stirred in his sleep and was immediately aware of the fact that John was no longer next to him. He sat up quickly, yet quietly and looked around. He could then see John, sitting on the floor, cross legged, next to a small fire he had rekindled in the grate. From his vantage point, Jamie could see the light from the fire reflecting in the tear tracks that lined his dear friend’s face and in his red-rimmed eyes. John was holding the picture of William reverently in his hand.

“We shall get him back, John.”

John was startled but did not attempt to hide what he was doing.

“Why are ye no’ sleeping?” asked Jamie, as he sat next to John. “Did ye think maybe I’d slip away in the night to finish off those bastards?”

“I must confess, the thought did occur to me,” said John, the ghost of an ironic smile gracing his lips.

“It would ha’ been a waste of my time though, wouldn’t it?” asked Jamie, as the awful truth came to him.

Nodding his head, John wiped his face with his sleeve.

“They are locked together in the room.” John had reached a hand into a pocket and drew out a key which he held out for Jamie to take.

“Christ, what the fuck have ye done, man?” asked Jamie, taking the key from John’s fingers.

“What had to be done.” John’s voice lacked emotion and that scared Jamie.

“Are ye no’ in enough trouble, without being wanted fer murder as well as desertion and assaulting a soldier?” Jamie was aghast at the actions taken by John, even though they had probably been no less violent than those he had been planning.

“I was never there.” John chewed on his lip as he turned away from the fire to look Jamie in the eye. “The only people in that inn who knew me by name are either here, with me, or are dead.”

“Och, mo leannan, I’m worrit about ye,” sighed Jamie, as he reached out to cup John’s face in his hands. He leant forward letting his lips brush John’s but no more. “Come back tae bed with me. Please.”

John conceded with no argument. He tucked the portrait of William into his cloak and took Jamie’s hand. He allowed himself to be wrapped in Jamie’s embrace and held so tight he could barely move. As he rested his head on the Scotsman’s chest, he could hear his heart beating and he let the steady beat calm his troubled soul.

Whatever the journey onwards to Inverness was to bring them, they would need as much sleep as the night permitted. Jamie would do his best to keep John safe that night, but he knew that by dawn, nightmares would have drained him of even more energy.

If Jamie had thought he was fully aware of how strongly John felt for the boy he had fathered, he had just discovered that he had severely underestimated the depth of that love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be some errors here - if so, bear with me and I'll tidy them up as I spot them. I thought people may prefer to have the chapter sooner rather than any later!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the night before.  
> Jamie is beside himself wanting to know what John went through and John is refusing to say a word.  
> There is burnt porridge, a thunderstorm and a sojourn in a barn.  
> Then a revelation.

** Chapter 12  **

Watching over his friend and lover, Jamie tried to sort the thoughts racing through his head. Taking into account everything John had told him and all that had happened on their journey from Edinburgh, he was forced to concede that the imperative to get to Inverness as soon as possible was accompanied by the inescapable fact that the closer they got to the Moray Firth, the greater the threat of dire consequences for John. Whether it was death that John Grey was preparing himself for, or some form of brutal punishment or incarceration, the fact remained that the brave soul, who lay in his arms, was fully aware that his personal safety was in danger and yet was not daunted from his purpose.

Regardless of what had taken place in that damn inn, Jamie realised John was already heading for a precipice and he could only do so much to protect him. His dearest of friends seemed hell-bent on throwing himself in the way of harm if he believed it would help in the rescue of their son or in the defence of Jamie Fraser.

Jamie brushed a strand of hair from John’s face and gently rubbed a fingertip along the creases in his forehead as if seeking to eliminate the festering nightmare that was spawning their presence. Something awful had happened to John. It had resulted in him taking the lives of two men, locking them inside an upstairs room in a coaching inn and walking away with the key. Those were not actions he associated with this most gentle of men.

Although he fully believed that John’s actions would have been justified, Jamie had not been speaking lightly when he had recited the other crimes he could be charged with. Thinking back to a time, long past, when Jamie had been led, manacled, behind Major Grey’s horse on a journey from Ardsmuir to Helwater – he could hardly believe that the same John Grey had taken on the mantle of wanted criminal. Jamie shook his head, dispelling the notion from his head. John’s actions – each and every one that placed him on the wrong side of the law had been for either him or his son and they had all been committed from a sense of honour that transcended the law.

Taking a deep breath of the damp air, Jamie’s nose twitched. He thought he could smell blood as well as the odour of decay from the mouldy plaster. Narrowing his eyes, he poked his nose under the blankets and deduced that the smell was coming from under the cloak wrapped tightly around John’s body. Carefully running his hands over the fabric, he detected no wet, warm spots that would indicate fresh bleeding, so he reached inside, first checking the coat and then the waistcoat. Then he felt it, his fingertips sensing the change in texture as the soft woollen fabric give way to the stiffness of dried blood. For an instant he was afraid he had failed to notice that John had been wounded, despite the man’s assurances that he was unharmed – no, _uninjured_ he had claimed, which was far from the same thing. But, as he traced the edges of the bloodstain with his fingertips, he could tell that the fabric was intact, there were no rips or tears. He could only surmise that the blood was not John’s and therefore had come from one of the men he had killed.

“A Dhia, what the hell happened to make ye do this, mo leannan?” Jamie whispered into John’s hair, strands of which had come loose from the ribbon. He had witnessed John engage Twelvetrees in that bloody duel, a fight to the death that had left John gravely wounded and on death’s door. But that was different.

Relieved that the blood was not John’s he swore he would destroy the damn waistcoat and find a replacement. He would not have John incriminate himself with the stains of those fiends’ blood, nor be fouled by it clinging to his body.

Absently stroking his hand lightly over John’s abdomen, Jamie felt John’s muscles tightening up. He had grown accustomed to the small signs indicating the internal distress that nightmares caused John. Tutting to himself, Jamie held John loosely in his arms as he started to stir – if his fears were correct, he knew that being held tightly would only serve to increase John’s anxiety and not provide comfort.

When John began to push away from him, Jamie held him close and kissed the top of his head speaking softly – words of comfort to make sure John knew whose arms he was in. He gradually manoeuvred John around, until they were facing one another. He wanted there to be no doubt in John’s mind who he was waking up beside and whose hands were upon him.

“Hush there, mo leannan, it’s me.” Jamie ran his hands up and down John’s arms slowly before folding his arms across the man’s back. “Ye ken it’s me, mo charaid, so stay where ye are. There’s nothing to fear.”

“We…we need to leave.” John looked around anxiously as if expecting to see something or someone else with them in the abandoned cottage. “We must not be found here.” 

John seemed disorientated and Jamie recalled Claire having told him how he had been when she was taking him away to recover after his torture at the hands of Randall. Part of him wished that John had left those bastards for him to kill – but he also acknowledged the need to enact one’s own revenge. He could only imagine how he would have felt if it had been a fellow clansman who had finished off Black Jack Randall at Culloden, denying him his own justice.

“I ken that, but it’s still early. We’ve time yet and we’re no’ going anywhere until we get ye cleaned up and fed.” Jamie paused to kiss John gently on the mouth, preventing him from voicing any objections. “And I’m sorry to say ye’ll need tae get rid o’ that bonny waistcoat fer a start.”

“Why?” John frowned as he pulled aside his cloak to inspect the garment in question.

“Can ye no’ see?” asked Jamie, wincing as he saw the offending stain for the first time himself. “The blood – and afore ye say it, I ken it’s no’ yours.”

“I – oh dear,” muttered John, absently touching the edges of the stain just as Jamie had done himself. “I hadn’t noticed that.”

Jamie nodded, considering the evidence that indicated John had not been fully attired when he had used his dagger. The cloak was unsullied by blood, although there were a few specks of dried vomit that would need to be cleaned off.

“That is going to get burnt,” explained Jamie, patiently, sensing that John’s thought processes seemed muddled. He then pointed at the blood-spattered shirt cuffs. “Along with that shirt ye’re wearing.”

“I do have another shirt to wear, don’t I?” asked John, again not completely coherent.

“Aye, ye do. And I’ve got another sark wi’ me as well.”

“Could I not cut the cuffs from the sleeves?” asked John, as he tugged at the long folds that fell across the back of his hand. They were the height of fashion, yet not particularly practical, and were always in need of cleaning, much to the consternation of his valet.

“Aye, ye could,” replied Jamie, slightly exasperated as he watched John fidgeting with the offending cuffs. “And I’m sure wee Byrd would be delighted to witness yer attempts at tailoring.”

“I suspect he would agree with your decision to burn the lot,” commented John, with a wistful smile. “Perhaps that would be better than letting him see the damage incurred.”

As John continued to toy with his cuffs, Jamie huffed indignantly and stilled his trembling hands, covering them with his own.

“John – I ken that ye’re no’ willing to tell me what happened to ye last night, but please – fer the love of all that is holy – let me have yer back from now on?” pleaded Jamie. “No’ just fer my own peace o’ mind, but fer the sake of William. Think on how it would be fer the lad to hear that ye’ve been killed or imprisoned on the way to finding him? How do ye think it would be fer me to tell him that?”

“That’s underhanded as you well know!” protested John. However, he conceded that he had to accept Jamie’s rationale. “But I have to agree – let us look out after one another, for I fear there are more dangers on the road ahead.”

“Aye well, one thing I can say fer a certainty is that we’ll no’ be taking that damn Wade’s road today. From here we can head due north, past Loch Gynack and then thread our way through the hills until we reach the Findhorn valley.”

“Will that not slow down our progress?” asked John, concerned.

“A lot less so than ye getting arrested,” retorted Jamie. “Once we get to the flat valley of the Findhorn, we can head east until we are travelling parallel to the military road heading north.”

“I shall trust that you know the route well enough to get us to Inverness in time.”

“Aye, but before then, we’ve got work tae do here. There’s a fire in need of lighting and parritch to be cooked. And I need to get ye tidied up, man, ye look like a butcher’s apprentice,” Jamie tried to tease John, but could see that his jest had fallen flat. “I need tae make sure ye’re ready for a day’s hard riding.” 

Taking a good look at the man in his arms, Jamie figured that two out of three tasks he had set himself were perfectly manageable, while the third was another matter entirely. He could see that John was still haunted by whatever unspeakable trauma he had endured.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here mo leannan, take my hand will ye no’?” Jamie held out his hand to John, having insisted that he stay under the blankets until he had lit the fire and got the oats cooking in a pot of water. “This time?”

John smiled sadly, as if contemplating refusing once more, but instead, he gratefully reached out to grasp Jamie’s hand, seemingly glad for the Scotsman’s strength in hauling him up from the uncomfortable flagstones.

“Let’s get ye sorted out, aye?” suggested Jamie.

John just nodded as he tried to focus on the state of his attire. The cloak was crumpled from having been slept in, so he allowed Jamie to unfasten it and lay it over the bench upon which they had sat the previous night. As John watched on dispassionately, as if merely an observer, Jamie removed his coat and inspected it carefully, satisfying himself that it was free of blood stains before placing it on top of the cloak.

Jamie’s next actions caught John unawares, as, with an apologetic look, he took hold of the ruined waistcoat by its points and tugged it open, causing buttons to fly in all directions across the floor.

“What the hell-?” exclaimed John, in horror, the affront to his suit seeming to stir him into full alertness.

“Ye’re no’ going to be wearing that again – it looks as if ye’ve been gralloching a deer!” explained Jamie. “Do ye want to check the pockets afore I toss it on the fire, or are ye content fer me to do it fer ye?”

“I have nothing to hide from you-” John started to say, only to be cut off by a humourless guffaw from Jamie.

“We both ken tha’s no’ true, John!” Jamie smiled sadly. “Ye’ll no’ tell me what happened to ye and ye’ve got to ken that’s eating away at me.”

Ducking his head, unable to look Jamie in the eye, John took the waistcoat from him and started to empty the pockets, handing over the contents as he did so. He wrinkled his forehead as he came across an angular stone that caught the firelight as if absorbing the very flames themselves.

“That’s a verra nice Cairngorm stone ye have there,” observed Jamie, taking the rock from John, noting how warm it felt in his hand as he did so. He assumed the warmth must have been from John’s body heat. He turned the stone around in his hand, admiring the symmetry of the crystal as he studied it more closely. “Aye, a fine specimen of smoky quartz. It’s meant to bring a change of fortune to those that carry a piece.”

“Oh dear – it has not served me well then since I chanced upon it,” said John, despondently. “Although at least now we know for certain that we are not being led on a wild goose chase.”

“Where d’ye get it, John? I’ve no’ seen it on ye before.” Jamie set the stone aside as he took John’s waistcoat from him to finish going through the pockets.

“In the mountains. The day before yesterday. I saw it when we stopped to catch our breath. It was glistening and looked pretty so I –”

“Pocketed it?” suggested Jamie, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smile. “Ye’re a veritable magpie, John Grey, d’ye ken that?”

John smiled in response, seemingly pleased that Jamie was beginning to know him better.

“Now that shirt, if ye will? Or would ye have me tear that off yer back as well-?”

Although Jamie had meant no harm, he could tell by the way that John froze to the spot, that his careless threat had forced an unwelcome memory to come to the fore.

“Ifrinn.” Jamie shut his eyes and shuddered, grasping yet another loose straw that seemed to tell the story of what John had endured. “I dinna mean-”

“No, no … of course you did not. It’s … I’ll do it,” stammered John, biting his lip nervously. “If you could perhaps find another shirt for me to wear?”

“Aye, of course,” agreed Jamie, grateful for an excuse to busy himself with the saddle bags rather than contemplate what he had inadvertently said that had caused John to go so pale, so quickly.

“Here ye go,” said Jamie as he shook out a relatively clean shirt for John. But as he looked up, he caught sight of John and felt his heart skip a beat. “Christ! What the hell-?”

Jamie had glanced in John’s direction just in time to see him tug the shirt free from his arms after pulling it over his head, the action exposing his back and shoulders. The bruising from the horses’ hooves was fading into a yellow ochre, but what had shocked Jamie was the livid purple bruising circling John’s upper arms. Jamie saw red, as blood rushed to his head along with images he would never erase.

Dropping the shirt to the floor, Jamie turned and let loose a howl of rage. He launched a fist into the wattle and daub dividing wall. Plaster and wooden slats went flying as the wall gave way to his anger. Jamie leant his forehead against the brickwork and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He heard John behind him, swearing to himself. From the corner of his eye, Jamie saw John cautiously reaching out a hand.

Cursing loudly, Jamie closed the distance between them in a single stride and engulfed John in a close embrace.

“Dear God, John – swear to me ye were telling the truth when ye said they never succeeded in their intentions?”

John did not answer immediately, but he did wrap his arms around Jamie’s waist, as if sensing that the Scotsman was in as much need of comfort as he was.

“They did not,” whispered John, shaking his head and sighing softly. “I swear on William’s life that I did not let them...”

“Mo leannan,” murmured Jamie, pausing to kiss John’s temple. “I should ha’ gone with ye. I should never have let ye go tae that room on yer own.”

“That was my decision – my choice,” said John quietly, yet firmly. “Besides which, you would have shot them both dead before they had the chance to speak.”

Jamie did not find much solace in John’s words but decided that there was something he could offer to do for his friend.

“Will ye let me rub some o’ that arnica into these fer ye?” asked Jamie, running his hands up John’s arms, carefully brushing the tips of his fingers across the marks left by other fingers that had cruelly gripped hold of the man he found himself loving more each day.

“Yes – it does seem to have remarkable healing properties,” replied John. “Although it occurs to me that the curative properties owe as much to the way the ointment is rubbed into the damaged tissue as to the actual ingredients.”

Jamie smiled, realising that John knew that allowing him to minister to his injuries, however incurred, he was letting Jamie salve his own conscience a little. He also knew that John attributed no blame to him, even though he was less forgiving of himself and would always rue the day he let John out of his sight in full knowledge of the danger he was walking into.

Sitting John down close to the fire, Jamie rooted around in one of the knapsacks until he found the jar he was looking for. He noted with despair that it was more than half empty. However, John had need of it, so he scooped out enough to coat the fingertips on one hand.

Jamie sat next to John and, taking one arm at a time, soothed the slightly scented salve into the new bruising. Noticing the way his own fingers curled around John’s arms, he felt the rage burning deep inside at the thought of the brute who had grabbed hold of John with enough force to cause the marks that showed the imprints of fingernails.

“Are there any other places in need of the arnica?” asked Jamie, through clenched teeth as he prayed there were none.

John shook his head but failed to quell the shudder that betrayed him.

“John?” asked Jamie, inviting honesty. “Tell me, mo charaid.”

“Nothing that arnica will heal,” came John’s quiet admission. He reached out to clasp Jamie’s hand in his.

As they sat staring at the fire, contemplating the flickering flames, John sniffed a few times. Jamie turned to look at him quickly, fearing that he was sobbing – only to see the man’s nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Oh dear!” said John. “I rather think your porridge is burning!”

Jamie swore and darted forward, quickly grabbing hold of the ruined waistcoat to hold the metal handle. He pulled the pot away from the flames licking at its base and examined the contents. The edges of the porridge were a dark brown where the oats had dried and burnt, but the centre was still a creamy white colour.

“It’s mostly fine, I’ll just no’ stir it.” Jamie was annoyed with himself as he realised that the burnt porridge could serve as an excuse for John to refuse to eat. “If ye put some of that honey in, it will take away the bitter taste of any burnt bits. Is there any left?”

“Yes. But I truly do not have much of an appetite, so why don’t you eat all that is still edible?”

“We will share it, because we’ll no’ get far if one of us has an empty gut.” Jamie gave John a look that defied dissent.

Scraping the remainder of the honey from the muslin cloth it was wrapped in, Jamie gave the spoon to John, hoping to tempt him, despite his claim of having no appetite.

“Thank you,” said John. He had little appetite, but he had to agree with Jamie that he could not travel far on an empty stomach.

As John tried his best to eat, forcing himself to swallow, praying that he would be able to keep the porridge down, he felt Jamie’s eyes on him, watching as he raised the spoon to his mouth and took the smallest of mouthfuls of the sweetened oatmeal.

After claiming to have eaten as much as he could, weathering Jamie’s sceptical glare, John put his coat back directly on top of the shirt. Having no waistcoat on which to attach the sapphire given to him by Jamie, he held the piece in his hands wondering where to tuck it away safely. He then looked up quickly and met Jamie’s eyes as they also looked up from the piece of embroidered leather. John realised that having left the sapphire in Jamie’s hands the previous night he would have had the chance to examine the leather backing and would have seen the stitching and understood the Latin. John blushed as he turned the keepsake over in his hands and looked again at Jamie, who was watching him with a quizzical expression.

“Oh, the embroidery on the back?” Jamie felt slightly guilty, having spied it first when they were still in Edinburgh. He recalled reading the words while John had been washing on the morning of the unfortunate incident. He smiled as it occurred to him how much closer they had slept as each night had passed. He coughed and decided it was only a white lie to let John believe he had only seen the stitching the previous night.

“Aye – I read it. Does it mean what I think it does?” Jamie asked outright, thinking of the sentiments referring to friendship and unrequited love. “How ye feel about me?”

“It did at the time. I could never believe that there would be a time when my feelings were anything but unrequited,” answered John, bashfully. “Jamie, will you do me the honour of wearing it upon your waistcoat?”

Jamie smiled and nodded his head. He appreciated the gesture and knew that it meant more than just a matter of convenience.

“Aye, it would be my pleasure.” Jamie reached out and took the specially crafted keepsake from John’s hand, clasping the sapphire he had handed over to John Grey when he had been governor of Ardsmuir Prison. John was not alone in not having dreamt that relations between them could have possibly developed into anything other than barely restrained animosity. “And ye should put this ring of Hector’s back where it belongs.”

Taking John’s hand and sliding the sapphire ring onto the smallest finger, it gladdened Jamie’s heart to see the smile on John’s face. Jamie recognised the significance of that sapphire to John, and if he had a ring of Claire’s, he would treasure it with equal ardency. As he fastened what he thought of as John’s sapphire to his own waistcoat, Jamie realised that they were each carrying one half of the ransom demand.

“What is the date?” asked John, as if similar thoughts were running through his head. “I seem to have lost track of days.”

“Today is the eighteenth of June. Dinna fash, John. We’ll make it there in time.”

“Yes, you’re right,” agreed John, sighing as he fidgeted with the fastening to his cloak that kept slipping from his fingers. “If we ride hard, we should be in Inverness by nightfall-”

“No – we’re no’ going straight there. I think we should call on a friend o’ mine first. I want us to stop the night and rest. Ye may not be willing to confide in me, but I can see that ye need more time to recover afore ye go storming into Inverness asking fer trouble.”

“But –”

“Nae arguments, John.”

Taking John’s hands in his and moving them away from the unruly buckle, Jamie fastened the cloak, noting as he did so that John’s hair was loose upon his collar. The indifference to his personal appearance was the first thing that had alerted Jamie to the fact that all was not well with John when he had first turned up on his threshold in Edinburgh and then promptly passed out. That lack of self-care was back – and that bothered Jamie immensely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The early morning’s ride encountered the most difficult terrain as they traversed the foothills and mountainous ground to the north of Kingussie. They followed the routes of narrow burns that led them through steep-sided valleys through the hills. John found his focus wandering at various times until he heard Jamie sharply calling out for him to watch where he was leading Kaphero. A worried expression on Jamie’s face was barely alleviated by a small smile from John.

They were both relieved when they rode into the broad valley of the River Findhorn, the river winding its way across the flat-bottomed valley like a snake – like the wooden snake that Jamie had carved for William.

A memory burst into John skull – the wooden snake held high above his head as he had been shoved downwards. The taunt that he would be given it as a reward. The laughter. The guffaws broadcast with foul breath from that oaf’s snaggle-toothed mouth. He had cut off that vile laughter at its source- 

Bile rose up John’s throat from his stomach and there was no keeping it down. He pulled up Kaphero abruptly, clumsily scrambled out of the saddle and doubled over, bringing up the remains of his breakfast. Looking up, panting heavily as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he could not avoid Jamie’s worried expression. 

“Jesus Christ, John, what is it? Are ye sick?” asked Jamie as he neatly tucked up a leg and dismounted smoothly, gathering up the reins of both horses. “Did that burnt parritch sit badly in yer wame?”

“No – it was not the porridge.” It would have been easier to lie, but John could not do that, he could withhold the truth, but not lie to Jamie Fraser.

“What is it then?” asked Jamie. He had to know what had caused John to suddenly get from his horse and be violently sick, in a way that reminded him horribly of the previous night.

“It will not make sense to you. It – it was the river, the way it curls and curves around,” explained John, even though his words were not enlightening Jamie. “It is just… just like the snake you carved for William.”

“Aye, ye’re right.” Jamie agreed as he looked out across the meanders of the Findhorn. He found his hand slipping into his pocket to grasp the wooden snake. “But why –”

“One of them had it. He was … he was unwilling to hand it over freely.” John shut away the recollections of what they had demanded of him in return for the carved snake. He swallowed hard, willing the last remnants of bile to stay down before he continued. “I had to get it away from him.”

Jamie let go of the horses, trusting them not to stray far, and wrapped John in his arms, holding him close. He was familiar with unpleasant associations the mind could make – for him it would always be the scent of lavender. He hated that John had been made to feel that way about the gift he had made with love for their son.

“I think I ken what ye’re going through, mo charaid. Come let’s sit awhile.”

This time when Jamie offered John a drink of whisky, he accepted eagerly, wanting the sour taste to be gone from his mouth.

When they were ready to ride on, they did so quietly, with Jamie following John as they galloped across the grassy plains, weaving between outcrops of thick purple heather.

Their shadows lengthened in front of them as they rode on into the late afternoon, eventually fading away as the sun slipped behind the thickening clouds. The air had become quite chilly and Jamie wondered if they would make it as far as Castle Moy before the rain fell. He sighed as it seemed they would have to take shelter outdoors rather than in the home of an old friend. He had desperately wanted to get John somewhere comfortable and safe before they headed into Inverness.

“We should seek somewhere to take shelter, I dare say there is another storm brewing,” observed John. As if to reinforce John’s prediction, there was a rumble of thunder as the dark clouds seemed to coalesce and descend down the valley heading in their direction.

“Aye. Maybe one of those auld barns over there-” Jamie pointed in the direction of a cluster of outbuildings, dilapidated and in desperate need of repair.

“Agreed. After you, I’ll follow!”

They galloped fast, racing ahead of the hail that thundered into the ground at the heels of their horses. They made it inside the old barn just before the rain struck the roof. Jamie quickly dismounted and helped John down; they took the horses into the rear of the barn.

“I’ll no’ risk either of our skulls near this pair’s hooves this time,” said Jamie. He made sure they were securely tied to posts at the far end of the barn.

Standing near the entrance, they stood shoulder to shoulder, peering out at the storm, watching as the lightning lit up the sky around them – all the more vivid for the twilight hour.

“At least it should stay dry in here and the old straw and hay will make for a comfortable seat, and feed for the beasts.” Jamie gestured at the tumbled stacks of straw that lay scattered across the floor of the barn. He sighed, grieving quietly for yet another deserted farmstead, the land taken over by the English.

A glance at John showed that he was eying the bales with suspicion. He was leaning against the door as if afraid to dally long near the old bales.

“What is it, John?”

“Rats. Old barns are always full of rats.” John paused to shudder. “I detest the beasts –”

“Aye, I recall ye asking fer a cat fer yer quarters at Ardsmuir,” Jamie smiled at the memory as he also remembered that John had also suggesting a cat be allocated to each cell until he was told he would be depriving the inmates of fresh meat. “I’ll protect ye from rats – although I ken ye know how to defend yerself against human vermin.”

“What I did was not exactly in self-defence.” John swallowed hard and tentatively lowered himself down onto the nearest bale of straw. “Although they were vermin.”

“Will ye no’ tell me something?” begged Jamie, taking a seat next to John. “Yer silence is scaring me more than I can bear. I keep thinking they’ll be coming after ye tae arrest ye fer murder.”

John shuddered as he cast his mind back briefly and felt it recoil in revulsion. He felt the bile rise again and clenched his teeth, hoping not to throw up yet again. The booming thunder made the walls of the barn shake and he found himself leaning closer to Jamie. 

“What I shall say is that I arranged them such that when they are discovered it will look as if they killed one another.” John placed a hand on Jamie’s knee and squeezed it gently. “Rest assured, no one will be looking for a third party.”

“I hope tae God that ye’re right John, fer I’d hate fer ye to face punishment for ridding the world of vermin like that.” Then something occurred to Jamie. “John – they _were_ armed. Ye were no’ murdering unarmed men, ye do accept that don’t ye?”

“Yes. But I killed them as much for the harm they have caused others, directly and indirectly, as for anything they tried to do to me.” John stared into Jamie’s eyes as he continued. “I could have extricated myself from that situation – with the information we needed – without resorting to bloodshed. I did what I did out of vengeance.”

“John? Ye’ve nae met them before, have ye?” Jamie was confused and troubled.

“Not them, no, but men like them,” John looked Jamie in the eye and took hold of his hands, wanting to share what he could with the man he would always love, no matter what came between them. “Those two had preyed on men, women and … and children.”

Catching the look of fury on Jamie’s face, John squeezed his hands and quickly continued.

“Not William. They would have made me aware of that if they had.” John clenched his teeth once more, recalling the details they had shared with him. He found his voice growing stronger as if energised by the electrical storm in the air. “Those vile bastards bragged of their acts of depravity. They were convinced that I was as fearful as their previous victims and I would not dare report their crimes for fear of my own reputation suffering as a consequence.”

“But surely if they were the ones to instigate these assaults-”

“My dear Jamie, any man who engages in an act of sodomy, whether of their own volition or not, is guilty in the eyes of the law. As for women who claim they have been raped, they are just as likely to be condemned for adultery.” John’s voice was becoming louder and more forceful, even as the thunderclaps outside were growing in volume. “The only way I could ensure justice was served was to act outside of the law. I took on the role of their judge and executioner.”

“What crimes did ye find them guilty of, John?” asked Jamie, concerned at the way John’s eyes had narrowed, not longer focused on him, but on the not so distant past.

“I found them guilty of being indisputable pederasts – the charge made to hang innocent men whose only so-called crime is to love another man. The depravity of villains such as those only serves to sharpen the Damoclean sword that hangs above my head and that of others like me, who prefer the company of men in their beds to that of women.” 

Not letting go of his hands, Jamie pulled John closer to his side. He was beginning to understand why John had done what he had and, also, why the whole encounter had left him so shaken.

“Then I hope ye made them suffer – that ye did no’ grant them a quick and painless death.” Jamie’s vehemence matched John’s. He wished that he had been there, at John’s side. The burden his friend carried was too much for one man.

“I am not sure whether it makes a positive contribution to my chances of damnation or of salvation, but I inflicted a great deal of pain on them both,” said John, reflectively, a sad smile on his face.

“Come, let’s go sit further away from the door, we’ll get soaked if we dinna move away from here,” suggested Jamie, observing how the wind was shifting.

Getting up from his seat next to John, Jamie pointed at a taller stack of hay bales. He then began to clamber up the sides to get further from the ground. If the rain did come in, they would stay drier if they were higher up.

“Will ye no’ sit up here with me?” Jamie gestured at the eroded straw bales, softened by time and neglect. “I promise I’ll kill any rat that as much as twitches its nose in yer direction.”

“It would be churlish of me to turn down such a gallant offer.” John’s lips toyed with a smile, but failed. He looked as much on the verge of tears as of laughter.

Jamie held out a hand and helped John up to take a seat next to him. As he did so the bales came apart, collapsing into heaps of straw tumbling down and across the floor of the barn. As the bales shifted, both men toppled backwards, John rolling over and onto Jamie, whose arms reached out to break John’s fall, clasping him tightly to his chest.

“I have ye, mo chridhe.” Jamie leaned up to meet John halfway as he lowered his head, letting their lips meet in the lightest of kisses. “Now and always.”

Then Jamie pulled John to his side and let his head rest on his shoulder, all the while running his fingers through John’s hair.

“Tell me, though, have ye any other injuries ye want to tell me about now. I have a stack of remedies to use and ye look as if ye could so with half the contents of that bag full ye bought in Crieff.”

“I swear to you that the greatest harm they inflicted on me cannot be healed with any ointment or herb,” murmured John, accepting the comfort offered. “However, your arms around me and your hands upon my body are soothing my soul.”

“Would ye like me tae…” Jamie did not know how to ask what was on his mind. He frowned, not sure if he was thinking clearly, or whether it was the storm breaking around them that made him want to take John, there on a mattress of loose straw, with the sound of rain pounding on the roof above their heads.

“I would very much like you to make love to me,” whispered John, feeling Jamie’s hardening cock pressing into his side. “That may put paid to the evil recollections that continue to plague me.”

“Are ye sure?” asked Jamie, breathing more heavily as he felt John’s hands sliding under his clothes and caressing his back.

John just nodded his head as he unfastened his cloak and let it fall around him covering the straw like a sheet.

“Now?” asked Jamie, his voice husky with want he had only just realised he had been suppressing.

“Dear God, yes. I want you now.”

Easing John onto his back, Jamie slowly kissed his way down from John’s lips to his throat and then, tugging his shirt from his breeches, he continued to press kisses to his chest as he ran his fingertips across the bare skin.

“Let me take care o’ ye,” said Jamie as he unfastened the fly of John’s breeches and then used his teeth to pull them down over John’s hips. He paused to loosen John’s boots, ensuring that he did not neglect in his ministrations, kissing John’s thighs even as he worked on the boots.

Pulling the breeches down further and, with them, the stockings and boots, Jamie sat back on his heels to gaze at John’s half naked body. Bruised, yet perfect, lit by flashes of lightning, his lean limbs pale against the dark woollen cloak. A meeting of eyes, both darkened with lust and something deeper and more meaningful, granted permission to continue.

“I only ask that I can see you. That I can see your eyes as you-” John started to request that Jamie made love to him face to face, when he felt the lubricated fingertip teasing at his entrance. “Dear God, yes… yes, that.”

Rendered speechless, John let his eyes close as he let himself feel Jamie’s love and care as he tried to replicate what he had seen John do when he had prepared himself the first time. John wondered, idly, when Jamie had taken the oil from the saddle bag, although it was probably still in his pocket from the night under the stars. This time, they could see each other clearly. Opening his eyes again, John caught a frown on Jamie’s face as if he were trying to work out logistically how to achieve what he had promised. To help him, John reached out for his discarded clothing and rolled it up to place under his hips. As he did so, Jamie grinned and stood up quickly to strip down from the waist.

Settling down between John’s legs, Jamie smiled as John hooked a leg over his broad shoulder, and tucking his strong arms under Jamie’s clothing and around his waist pulled him forward, bringing his painfully hard member in contact with John’s oil -slicked opening. From there, Jamie pressed forward, slowly and carefully, each gentle movement pushing forth moans of pleasure from between John’s lips. 

As Jamie increased the speed and force of his thrusts, the storm continued to rage above and around them, thunder crashing loudly as he pounded into John’s body, coaxed on by the barely coherent requests from John. Reaching down for John’s neglected cock, trapped between their bodies, Jamie wrapped his fingers tightly around its girth and moved his hand in time with his thrusts. Still slick with oil, his hand slid up and down the shaft smoothly, feeling the velvet warm skin sliding over the hard flesh within. He could hear John’s breaths faster, panting as cries of bliss spilled from his lips shattering the air around them, echoing Jamie’s own roars of pleasure as he felt his orgasm uncoiling as he achieved his release.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Too drained to move, letting the spilt seed cool between their bodies, the two men lay on the cloak covered straw, Jamie sprawled across John’s body, his head upon the other man’s chest. In one ear, the sound of John’s heart steadily beating, no longer racing, and in the other, the rumbling of thunder becoming ever more distant as the storm moved on. The crashing of thunder and hammering of rain had been replaced by birdsong and the sound of rain dripping from the leaves of trees onto the wooden roof.

Artwork gifted by @drivablecar

His nose tickled by an errant wisp of hay, Jamie felt a sneeze building – he lifted his head just in time to catch the sneeze in his hand, but as he did so a cascade of auburn curls tumbled forward into John’s eyes, which had opened just in time to be blinded by a red curtain of hair. Blinking away at the intrusion, for a moment all that John saw was filtered through a red screen and then as Jamie sat back, it was as if his head cleared at the same time as his vision. It came to John, that elusive scrap of memory that had seemed so important and had kept receding whenever he thought he was close to recalling it.

Sitting up with a start, John grabbed hold of Jamie’s arms, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open as if in shock.

“Dinna fash, John, it was just a sneeze– a bit of hay got up my nose, that’s all. Are ye alright?”

“I…I just remembered something,” explained John. “Something they said. I think it may be important.”

Frowning, Jamie eased John back down onto the straw and held him in his arms.

“Hush now … I dinna want ye thinking of them, not now, John.”

“I need to tell you – I don’t want to forget this,” John shook his head slightly as he let Jamie pull his cloak around them both. “It was to do with that woman who has kidnapped William.”

That was sufficient to have Jamie give John his full attention.

“Tell me.”

“They said she was a witch and that she had cursed them. When they spoke of her, I was too concerned about details concerning William, so I did not pay careful attention to their insults regarding the woman with him. Damn it-”

“Nae, John, I’d ha’ done the same,” soothed Jamie, cupping John’s face in a hand so he could see into his eyes that were clear and bright. “Go on – what is it ye’ve remembered? Why did they say she was a witch?”

“They described her in derogatory terms, as they seemed to with regard to all women. But, they referred to her specifically as a slattern, a red haired trollop, with her hair unbound,” John paused as he considered which of the other details were relevant. “They said her breasts were on display for all to see and she wore a white cockade pinned to her dress.”

“The white rose?” Jamie recognised the symbol of a Jacobite sympathiser, and coupled with the long red hair and Scots accent, it could have described any number of women. But the fact that they said she was a witch made him scowl. “Ifrinn… I think I ken who she is –”

“Really? Who is she then?”

“If it is who I think it is, she was due to be burnt at the stake – as a witch.” Jamie shook his head as the thought of his Claire standing trial alongside that woman came to mind. “She came close to sharing her fate with my Claire.”

“Dear God. Are you saying she _is_ a witch?” asked John, his mind racing now with the revelations from Jamie.

“I dinna ken about that. Claire said there were nae such things – that it was just an excuse to persecute women that were healers. But this one, she was an evil piece of work, witch or not. Her name was Geillis Duncan,” Jamie chewed his lip and tapped his fingers on John’s shoulder as he worried about sharing that other detail that Claire had divulged to him. “John, there’s one more thing about this woman. It would explain why she has asked ye to meet at Craig na Dun. She’s no’ from this time. Claire said she had also travelled through the stones - from the future.”

“ Good heaven above,” John was astounded. “Then we are dealing with a fearsome adversary indeed.”

“Aye – but forewarned is forearmed, if indeed it’s the same person.”

“Damn. If she is from the future, then,” John trembled slightly. He held onto Jamie’s sleeves as if to ground himself. “Then what she issued as a curse, predicting what is to come – that may be true. If she has come from a time when what is to pass for us has already happened for her-”

“What is it? What is troubling ye?” Jamie narrowed his eyes to get a more focused look at John – he had become paler as Jamie had revealed details concerning the person who may have been behind William’s kidnapping.

“She cursed them saying they would not see another solstice and that the earth would swallow them up with a lick of its lips and then they would be no more.”

“Well, she got that right,” said Jamie, even though he could tell there was more that John was recalling.

“Oh, dear God –” John rolled away from Jamie, onto his back and took his head in his hands.

“What is it John?” Reaching out to clasp John’s hands in his, Jamie pulled back the fingers gently as it seemed that John had been close to clawing at his own face.

“She smiled at them – they said her tongue was forked like a snake.”

“They fabricated that detail – but she’s a wicked tongue on her, no doubt about that,” muttered Jamie as he waited for John to focus once more. “Go on, John, what was said?”

“She told them their deaths would serve a higher purpose. That the one who spilt their blood would in turn have theirs spilt upon the stones. She said the balance would be met and that they should not fear dying as their deaths would set in motion all that would come to pass.”

John had become as still as a statue as the words of the men he had slain spilled from his lips. He had become a conduit for the memories that unfolded in front of him.

“John!” shouted Jamie, shaking John’s arm to rouse him from the trance he seemed to have fallen into.

Glancing down, Jamie saw that John had become very tense, gripping so tightly to a handful of loose straws, that he had rendered them into powder and dust.

John blinked rapidly as he realised that Jamie was staring at him with concern writ full across his features.

“John! I ken that wee bitch and that does sound like the type of evil nonsense she’d spew. But dinna fash, fer I am no’ going to leave yer side – no’ fer a moment.”

Holding John close, Jamie felt his own heart beating rapidly within his chest. He could not tell John that he had been having nightmares, the contents of which echoed the wicked things that Geillis had said. The image of John bleeding at the foot of that cleaved stone, slipping away from him, returned stronger than ever.

“If it should come to saving either William or me.” John spoke the words softly into Jamie’s ear. “Swear to me that you will make our son your priority. Promise me that.”

“I swear on our son’s life that I shall save him first.” _‘And then ye,’_ whispered Jamie as a compromise. “Come on now, mo leannan, let’s move on now the storm is over. We may yet make it tae my friends before night falls.”

“Of course. But I should probably dress before we do so.”

With a smile, Jamie held John close and kissed him fiercely, wishing they could stay where they were and not leave the comfort they had found. 

“I’ll help ye find yer boots,” Jamie sat up and helped John get to his feet. “Are ye feeling any better, mo leannan?”

“I feel more settled. But I do know that I am torn between wanting time to fly until we have William in our arms once more and wanting it to stand still so I can hold on to this moment forever and never have to let it go.”

“I ken what ye mean, John.”

Jamie kissed John once more, relieved to feel him melt into his embrace. They still had a hard journey ahead, yet John was more whole than he had been the previous night and for that Jamie was grateful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With much gratitude to the lovely @drivablecar for the beautiful artwork gifted to me showing the scene in the hay as Jamie takes John's mind off his troubles.


	13. Chapter 13

** Chapter 13  **

There were still a few hours of daylight remaining, so Jamie suggested they had something to eat before setting off. It did not take long to find the remains of the food supplies – half a dozen oatcakes, a small piece of cheese and a few shrivelled apples. Jamie divided the food into two equal portions and was pleased to see that John did not try to return any of his share, although he still had that haunted expression in his eyes, as if struggling with memories that would not leave him alone.

“How far are we from the stone circle?” asked John, feigning indifference as he carved out a slice of apple with his penknife.

“Why d’ye ask?” Jamie narrowed his eyes warily, detecting more to John’s question than an innocent query into the distance they had left to travel.

“Last night, in my… dreams,” John faltered on the word, not willing to admit to the nightmares that had plagued his sleep. “I saw a cluster of tall stones. Tall and thin, like gravestones. On a hilltop, with trees surrounding the grove where they stood. To one side … a larger stone cleaved in two as if struck by lightning.” John bit his lip as he caught Jamie staring at him.

John shook his head as if to dispel the remnants of the dream that had visited him in his restless sleep. He smiled at Jamie before taking a neat bite from the slice of apple he had been holding.

Jamie smiled back, although it made his hair stand on end to think that that John would have dreamt of a place he had never seen, especially in such accurate detail.

“John, ye must no’ dwell on what troubled ye in yer sleep last night,” advised Jamie, reaching out to squeeze John’s shoulder. “Nae good will come of fretting over bad dreams.”

“You’re right of course,” replied John, as he threw the core of his apple out of the barn and into the long grass.

“I would recommend ye taking a larger dram of whisky tonight. That will help ye sleep without the nightmares.” 

“Agreed – I shall hold you responsible for reminding me of that wherever it may be that we end up spending the night.” John reached up to take hold of Jamie’s hand that still rested on his shoulder, appreciating the support and friendship on offer. “So, shall we venture forth and hope that these friends of yours are at home?”

“Aye – I must admit I am looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed and eating a decent meal. If we’re lucky we may even have the opportunity to wash in hot water.”

“Dear God, that is a splendid enticement to make haste.” John sighed, wondering if Jamie was teasing him with the temptation of comfort, but was willing to play along with the fantasy, if it provided a distraction from the reality they were facing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie had indicated that they should follow the River Findhorn west until they could cross a bridge to re-join the Wade road heading for Inverness. He had reassured John that it was a comfortable ride for the horses and that the roads would be quieter at that time of day. They were also fortunate in that the storm had made most travellers seek shelter for the night – even the military roads would have become flooded in places, hiding potholes, making the surface dangerous for carriage wheels. Consequently, they travelled north without meeting another living soul.

The sky had cleared of clouds, making it still light enough to travel safely on horseback – they were so far north that the sun was not due to set until after ten o’clock at night. Jamie had explained to John that his friend would not turn them away, no matter the lateness of the hour.

By the time they reached Loch Moy, the sunset was painting the sky with streaks of crimson and gold, that reflected in the beautiful stretch of water, the iridescent colours of the sky reflecting in the loch, which glittered like an exquisitely cut diamond. Around the banks, there were clusters of dark green trees from which they could hear rooks squabbling as they alighted on their lofty nests, settling in for the evening.

****

**Loch Moy sunset**

Not wanting to draw unwelcome attention, Jamie had insisted that they ride at a steady walking pace once they had reached the road. Although John had found it frustrating not to make faster progress, he was appreciating the opportunity to admire the scenery. He saw the way Jamie’s attention was drawn to the island that seemed to be floating on the surface of the loch, surrounded by wisps of mists that caressed its shores. John squinted in the light and could see the ruins of a castle on the island and concluded that was what Jamie had been looking for.

“I take it you know the family whose castle that was?”

“Aye. Clan Mackintosh,” answered Jamie with a rueful grin. “They’ve been here since the fourteenth century.”

John frowned, considering this piece of information. There was something familiar about the location, but it had been such a long time since he had travelled to Inverness that he could not quite recall what it was – but he could not believe that the castle on the island would still be the residence of any clan, it was obviously ruined beyond repair.

“Are we close to the home of your friend?” asked John, surreptitiously adjusting his seat in the saddle. Their roll in the hay that afternoon may have been at his instigation, but he had not considered how sore it was going to leave him. He found his mind wandering to Jamie’s wide backside astride his saddle and wondered what it would take to persuade Jamie to swap positions.

“John! Are ye staring at my arse?” Jamie was looking over his shoulder at John, catching the direction of his gaze. And the inquisitive expression on his face.

John snapped his head up quickly and met Jamie’s glare.

“What? Of course not! Why would I-” John stopped and laughed as he saw the expression of disbelief on Jamie’s face. “It is a particularly fine arse.”

“If ye say so,” replied Jamie, shaking his head. “Come on then, let’s make more haste now and we’ll be there afore it gets dark.”

“Do you trust him? This friend of yours?” John called out. After all they had been through, he found himself wary of placing his trust in anyone other than Jamie. “Are you certain he will not betray us?”

“Nae, mo leannan. S _he_ will no’ hand anyone over to the English,” replied Jamie with a wry smile as he considered the woman who he had not seen in person for many years. “She will provide us with shelter if she is at home, hopefully a bite to eat as well.”

An enigmatic grin broke across Jamie’s face, as he imagined the shock on John’s face when he introduced him to the infamous ‘Colonel Anne’, Jacobite sympathiser and her husband, Angus Mackintosh, Captain of the Black Watch.

As they skirted around the northern shore of Loch Moy, Jamie led them through the woodlands and onto a track that opened out into a wide, open area, upon which was situated a grand edifice of pointed turrets surrounding an off centre tower. John’s mouth gaped open. He had been expecting a working farmhouse, or maybe some type of manor house, but not a grand residence such as the one he was gazing at. And certainly not Moy Hall.

****

**Moy Hall (before it was demolished)**

“Dear God in Heaven, that is Moy Hall!” John pulled hard on the reins, bringing Kaphero sharply to a halt as he turned to look at Jamie with accusation in his eyes. “Is this our destination? The home of your friend?”

“Aye – that’s right. Magnificent isn’t it?” came Jamie’s guarded response. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. “I thought it would make a change from abandoned farm buildings. Ye were the one to say ye didna like rats. However, if ye’d rather sleep under a hedge - ”

“Than the site of the infamous ‘Rout of Moy’?” protested John, even though it had been twenty years ago, he could not help but think that if the Pretender had been apprehended at Moy Hall, much bloodshed would have been spared. Including Hector’s. Speaking with less ire, John reflected on the outcome out loud: “If Loudon had succeeded in capturing Charles Stuart, a great many lives would have been spared – on both sides.”

“Aye. If the massacre at Culloden had been averted, our lives would have led us down verra different paths …” mused Jamie, thinking that if there had been no imminent battle, he would not have sent Claire through the stones. He would probably never have met an adult John Grey, nor fathered a son by a spoilt landowner’s daughter. William would not exist, and Jamie would be with Claire and their child still – except that child would be a grown man or woman.

Jamie caught John’s eyes and realised they were both thinking of what the future may have held for them if that battle could have been avoided. A rueful smile mirrored in each other’s faces expressed what they both knew for certain – they would never have become friends never mind anything more intimate. Jamie wondered if there could have been a future for John and his lover even if Hector had not been cut down at Culloden, he also wondered when he had adjusted his outlook such that the thought saddened him.

John turned away and cast his eyes over the grounds sprawling out around the grand house.

“So, it was here then, was it?” asked John, his voice husky with emotion. “The infamous rout, where an entire regiment turned tail, shitting themselves over the antics of a blacksmith and a girl in petticoats by all accounts.”

“I’ll have ye ken that blacksmith was a Fraser,” pointed out Jamie with pride.

“And Lord Loudon is a distant relative of my mother’s,” responded John, with an ironic chuckle. “In fact, he is the governor of Edinburgh Castle.”

“Ifrinn! So why were ye slumming it with me in a brothel if ye’ve got relatives that run the bloody castle?” demanded Jamie.

“If you recall, I was trying _not_ to draw attention to my presence in Scotland.” John paused to glare at Jamie to prevent him saying whatever was on the tip of his tongue. “Besides which, my mother would be scandalised if I were to stay with him.”

“Dare I ask why?” asked Jamie, curious as to the reason.

“No,” snapped John. “Suffice it to say he is a resolute bachelor.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow and chuckled to himself. Thinking of John’s marital status – a marriage of mutual convenience - led him to consider what may have happened if their own circumstances were different.

“A Dhia – ye realise that if ye were a lass and I were tae marry ye, our families would kill each other before the ceremony was over?” Jamie grinned recalling the stories he had heard of his own parents’ wedding.

“We would have no choice but to elope to avoid the inevitable bloodshed,” suggested John, a wry smile on his lips. Unable to look at Jamie, he focused on untangling the reins which he had twisted in his hands while contemplating the question on his mind. “Would you? Marry me? If I were a lady and not a lord.”

Jamie ducked his head down as he felt the blood rush to his face. He had to admit John Grey would make an extremely attractive woman. He was also highly intelligent, in possession of a dry wit and, as Jamie had been delighted to discover, fiercely passionate – so like Claire in that respect- beneath that controlled persona. Both Sassenachs, yet both had claimed part of his heart. Jamie could not deny the feelings he had for John.

“If ye were no’ already married,” started Jamie, bashfully. “Which ye are. But if ye were an unattached woman, lady or no’, I would want tae make an honest woman of ye.”

“For what it is worth, were I not married, I would accept your offer.” John bowed slightly, smiling to himself. He would happily accept the admission for what it was. His love was returned.

Jamie cleared his throat and squeezed his thighs prompting Mac Dubh to move on. John took the hint and followed him. The track soon became wide enough for them to ride two abreast as they got closer to the main entrance to the castle.

“As for the lass that run amok in naught but her shift, in the cold February air?” commented Jamie, a sidelong glance thrown in John’s direction. “That would be my _friend_ , Lady Anne Mackintosh.”

“Your ‘ _friend’_ – Colonel Anne. Of course,” sighed John, shaking his head. He knew he should not have been surprised that Jamie Fraser still maintained links with associates from the uprising. In his previous capacity as parole officer to the prisoner Jamie Fraser, he would have had to report such a transgression of the rules of his parole, but as he was outside of the law himself, he realised there was nothing to do but to be grateful he was not in uniform.

“Aye, also named ‘La Belle Rebelle’ by Charles Stuart himself.” Jamie scowled as he recalled the prince’s assumptions that he was entitled to the young girl’s company in his bed when he had stayed at Moy Hall. 

“Oh, dear God, the Jacobite heroine herself. My dear Jamie, I cannot imagine that she would welcome an officer of the forty-sixth into her home. I fear she may wish to shoot me rather than allow me to cross the threshold of Moy Hall.”

“As far as I know she has no’ yet killed her husband and he was a loyal captain of the Black Watch, so I think ye’ll be safe – especially as ye’re with me. I’ll vouch fer ye.”

“I should hope so.”

“John, ye’ve been sharing a bed with a man jailed fer his part in the uprising, and I’ve yet to try tae kill ye in yer sleep,” stated Jamie, as the true nature of their relationship occurred to him. “As a matter of fact, it occurs tae me that I’ve been trying harder tae keep ye alive than ye have!”

Before John had the opportunity to formulate a response to Jamie’s accusation, the front doors of the hall swung open and a formally attired footman approached them, a pistol aimed in their general direction.

“Who may I ask is calling on the household at this hour?” he asked as he looked from Fraser to Grey, trying to assess what nature of threat they posed.

Jamie took off his hat and raised his chin proudly.

“I’d be grateful if ye were to tell yer mistress that the Laird Broch Tuarach, would like to pay his respects.” Jamie paused to lay the reins down across Mac Dubh’s neck, freeing his hands to remove the thistle brooch from his cloak. He held it out for the footman to take. “Tell her ‘je suis prest’. She’ll ken I am who I say I am.”

As the footman retreated hastily back into the house, clasping the thistle, John cleared his throat to attract Jamie’s attention.

“Am I to assume the role of trusty manservant?” he asked, touching the front of his hat.

Jamie turned to give John a bemused look before laughter spluttered from his lips.

“Ye’d never pass as anyone’s manservant, mo leannan. As if any laird would employ an Englishman in such a role requiring trustworthiness.”

“Hmph,” snorted John indignantly. “Regardless, I think I should prefer to be introduced as Bertram Armstrong rather than as John Grey, and definitely not as an English Lord.”

“What?” retorted Jamie. “So, it’s alright to use yer real name when pulling rank on a bloody English army sergeant, or when interviewing a pair of cutthroats in a coaching inn, but ye’ll use a damned alias tae people I ken!”

“It is my prerogative,” muttered John, under his breath. “And those are two of my given names - John William Bertram Armstrong Grey.”

“Armstrong?” asked Jamie, incredulously. “Dinna tell me ye’ve got relatives in the Borders?”

“Yes. Benedicta’s mother was an Armstrong. Why?” asked John, keeping a wary eye on the door, waiting for the infamous Colonel Anne to storm out waving a blunderbuss in his face.

“It’s that Scottish blood then,” Jamie chuckled wryly to himself, throwing a glance in John’s direction so that he did not miss the expression on his face. “That’s what makes ye such an obstreperous bastard at times. Granted it’s from the Borders, so probably weaker than Highland blood.”

“Evidently, as you apparently find the fact that I have some Scottish blood reason to insult me.”

“Dinna fash, _Bertram_. I’ll no’ take it personally that ye dinna trust my judgment.”

“It’s not that, Jamie, but-”

“No, not at all, _Bertie_ ,” said Jamie, rolling the ‘r’ as much as he could and grinning broadly. “And ye can trust me tae be calling ye _Bertie_ all evening until ye admit yer true name.”

Fortunately, they did not have to wait long for Jamie’s message to generate a response, and within minutes the door opened once more. Pushing past the footman came the lady of the house, her ivory silk skirts bustling through the doorway as she dashed forward to greet Jamie.

****

**Lady Anne Farquharson-Mackintosh**

“Why, if it is not James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, as I live and breathe.” Standing with her hands on her hips, Lady Anne Mackintosh smiled broadly. “Ye are a grand sight for sore eyes!”

“And as fer ye, ye’re as bonny as a white rose now as when I first met ye!” replied Jamie jubilantly as he jumped down from his horse. He stooped down to place one large hand on either side of the woman’s waist before sweeping her off her feet and swirling her around as if she were a child.

“Put me down, ye great oaf!” she squealed, slapping his shoulders to no effect. “I’m not some wee slip of a lass anymore.”

“And ye weren’t then either, not when ye donned men’s breeks and went to call up an army. Ye were a mighty fierce woman then and ye were barely twenty were ye no’?”

“Twenty-two,” answered Anne Mackintosh. “And you were not much older from what I recall. But what are you doing here? I heard tale ye’d died at Culloden.”

“And I heard ye’d been arrested and turned over to the care of yer mother-in-law.”

“Well – as you can see, I am not incarcerated in Fort George or anywhere else for that matter.” Lady Anne stood back and glanced across at John, who had been observing from the shadows. “Well, Fraser, are you going to introduce me to your friend? He’s verra quiet and from the way he’s sat on that horse, he looks like he’s got a ramrod up his arse. If he’s not an Englishman, I’m the Queen of France.”

“Aye – he’s English,” admitted Jamie, casting a fond look in John’s direction. “But he is also mo charaid gaoil.”

Lady Mackintosh’s eyebrows arched at the compliment. She would have been surprised to hear any Scot refer to an Englishman as his ‘dearest friend’, let alone Jamie Fraser. She could tell that the Englishman in question had not understood what Jamie had just referred to him as, although he was smiling as Jamie approached the man’s horse and took the reins from him, allowing him to dismount gracefully, as if from habit. Jamie turned to Anne and bowed slightly before turning his attention back to the man at his side.

“Lady Anne Farquharson-Mackintosh. May I present,” Jamie paused as he met John’s eyes briefly, a twinkle hinting at mischief. “His Lordship - John William _Bertram_ Armstrong Grey.”

John took a step forward, ‘accidentally’ pressing the heel of his boot onto Jamie’s toes as he took his hat from his head and bowed low.

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, your ladyship,” John reached out to gently cradle his host’s hand in the palm of his own, before gently brushing his lips across her knuckles in the lightest of kisses. “ _John_ Grey. At your service.”

“We’re travelling from Edinburgh tae Inverness and I thought we’d drop in tae see ye on our way,” explained Jamie. “Perhaps, stay the night, if that’s amenable to ye?”

Sensing an intriguing relationship between her old friend-in-arms and the gracious English Lord, Lady Anne smiled sweetly, determined to find out more as soon as she had the chance. In the meantime, she beckoned the footman over to take the horses to the stables, with instructions to have all the bags and portmanteaux delivered to the guest rooms promptly. She also muttered some other orders, which caused the poor man to frown and then nod his head.

“The groom will take good care of your horses. The poor beasts look in need of a good feed, a brushing down and a soft bed to sleep upon… much like the pair of you.” Lady Anne’s inscrutable glare put paid to any protestations from either man. “Now, come on up to the house, it’s getting quite chilly now that the sun has set.”

Watching as the force of nature swept past them, John raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you quite sure she’s not going to shoot me at the earliest opportunity?” he whispered to Jamie as they followed in Lady Anne’s wake.

“Dinna fash – she’s marrit to a man who is still loyal to yer King, so ye’re no’ worse than him and I think he’s still alive.”

As they made their way up the steps and into the entrance hall, they could see Anne waiting impatiently, tugging her shawl over her shoulders from where it had slipped loose.

“Come along, will ye nae hurry up?” She shivered slightly in the chill air and then turned her attention to John. “I heard what ye were saying, and, if Jamie Fraser vouches for ye, Lord Grey, then I’ve no argument with ye.”

“Your servant, ma’am,” John swept into a low bow. “I have learnt to respect those whom Jamie Fraser holds close.”

“Aye, well I expect ye’re both hungry and will fare better with full stomachs.” Anne favoured the two men with a look that made it clear that they were not being asked if they would like something to eat, but told that they were going to be fed. “When I was told Jamie Fraser was at the door, I sent word that refreshments were to be provided in the breakfast room.”

Directing them through the door at the left-hand side of the hallway, Lady Anne ushered her unexpected guests into the well-appointed breakfast room. John held back and as he waited for Anne to steer Jamie towards the chair at the head of the table, he admired the décor, especially the delicate shade of pale green on the walls which were decorated with hand-painted wisteria and honeysuckle vines. He was barely aware of Anne bidding him to take a seat, but as he turned towards her voice, he was pleasantly surprised by the generous selection of dishes set out before him. There was a loaf of fresh bread, and platters upon which were arranged slices of game pie, boiled eggs, fillets of smoked mackerel, a selection of cheeses, thick slices of ham and what appeared to be a richly fruited cake.

“I hope this will suffice,” tutted Anne. “If ye’d have given notice of your visit, Fraser, I’d have had salmon and a saddle of venison from the estate roasted in your honour. But I had the cook salvage whatever she had to hand in the pantry that could be served quickly-”

“It is a veritable feast, your ladyship,” said John, graciously. He was surprised to find his appetite returning. “Your generosity does you credit.”

“This is Highland hospitality, mo charaid,” commented Jamie, with pride, as he patted John’s shoulder. “I dinna think ye’d have seen much of that in yer past visits this far north.”

John looked embarrassed as he recalled his previous excursions into the Highlands and to Ardsmuir. Jamie was right, but it pained him to think back on those times, twenty years past, yet still having such a dreadful impact on those born and bred in the area. He started to unfasten his cloak, before recalling he was not properly dressed, having no waistcoat. He sighed heavily, causing Jamie to place a hand on his arm and quietly enquire after his welfare.

“Are ye alright, John. I didna mean to upset ye-”

“No, not at all. I was just missing my waistcoat.” John smiled shyly.

“That sounds terribly careless,” interjected their hostess, having overheard their hushed conversation.

“I burnt it,” admitted Jamie. “It had been spoilt by some nasty stains. But I didna realise my friend didna ha’ a spare with him.”

“Previous guests have left behind clothing, I am sure my husband’s valet will be able to sort out some suitable items of clothing, for both of ye,” said Anne, with a knowing smile. Torn, mud-spattered clothing, with what looked suspiciously like blood stains told her more of their journey than she thought either would volunteer.

“Would you care for some wine?” asked Anne, directing the question at Jamie. “I have a bottle of that wine your clan were so fond of serving at gatherings.”

“The Rhenish wine? Aye, that was always my uncle Colum’s favourite. John? Will ye have some?” Jamie took John’s glass and tilted his head to catch John’s attention. “I recommend it highly.”

“It would be a pleasure,” replied John with a smile as he watched Jamie pour him a glass of the pale rosé wine. “Thank you.”

“Dinna stand on ceremony on my account, lads. I can see you’re both fair famished, so tuck in and we’ll talk after ye’ve had yer fill.”

Apart from occasionally urging her guests to help themselves to more generous portions, Anne sat patiently, studiously observing the interactions between the two. She was intrigued by the way Fraser seemed especially solicitous of his companion – adding an extra slice of meat to his plate when he was not looking and topping up his wine. It was the attention she saw between people who cared for each other a great deal. As expected, Jamie’s appetite exceeded that of the Englishman, but between them they ate a substantial amount.

“That was grand – thank ye. I dinna think I could move even I was being pursued by the King’s finest,” claimed Jamie as he leaned back in his seat and patted his stomach gently, winking at John. “So, Anne, are ye able tae spare us a room fer the night?”

“Of course, ye daft fool,” chuckled Anne. “I gave instructions for the suite of rooms in the east turret to be prepared.”

“That’s very generous of ye, lass,” responded Jamie, setting his glass down. He was surprised, yet grateful. “A single room woudha served just as well.”

“Just the one?” asked Anne curiously, looking from Jamie to John and back again. Lord Grey was dabbing his mouth with the crisp linen napkin and was certainly not the type of person she would have expected Jamie Fraser to be sharing a room with.

“We have… business tae discuss,” explained Jamie, awkwardly. “And we’ve got used to sharing accommodation on the road from Edinburgh.”

Jamie heard John attempt to disguise a snort as a cough, taking advantage of the napkin to cover what was no doubt a wry grin. Narrowing his eyes, Jamie glared at him over the edge of the wine goblet he was raising to his lips once more.

“Accommodation? Really Jamie?” asked Anne detecting a story or two, especially considering their unkempt appearance. “It looks to me like it’s been a while since either of ye’ve slept in a proper bed. So, now ye’ve eaten and have the promise of a warm, dry bedroom, I’d like to hear what business ye have in Inverness. I sense an urgency to your quest, do not deny that, after all I saw the state of the horses - ye’ve been riding hard and not stopping long enough to refresh man nor beast. Ye’ve both got shadows under yer eyes that speak of sleepless nights and I imagine that ye’ll be raring to go as soon as darkness lifts come morning. Am I right?”

As Lady Anne detailed her suppositions, both men looked awkward: Jamie shuffled in his seat and John seemed suddenly intrigued by the engraved handle of the tiny mustard spoon that he has picked up to examine. Jamie nudged John’s elbow and when he looked up, they exchanged a look but no words.

“Ye’re no’ wrong. Ours is an urgent quest indeed, answered Jamie, pausing to get approval from John before continuing. “It concerns the abduction of a child,”

“Whose child?” asked Anne sharply, putting her glass of wine down as she leaned forward, her expression suddenly profoundly serious.

“Mine,” said both men, simultaneously.

Lady Anne Mackenzie laughed out loud and rolled her eyes.

“Ye canna both be the child’s father!” Anne scrutinised them carefully to determine who was telling the truth. She wondered if Fraser had got the other man’s wife pregnant, but that would not explain the close friendship between the two. “Just tell me whose child is it that’s been kidnapped.”

“I am the boy’s official guardian,” explained John quickly, setting aside the spoon he had been fidgeting with, resisting the urge to tuck it into a pocket. His eyes met Jamie’s, implying that he should take the cue to claim William as his son.

“And I am the bairn’s father by blood,” explained Jamie. “But it has been John who has served as athair mo mhic. I couldna ask fer a better man tae bring up my son.”

“I sense there’s a lot more to this than meets the eye,” observed Anne. She could see from the way their eyes lit up, despite the lateness of the hour and the evident lack of sleep, that the child meant a great deal to both men. “But that shall keep. Ye say he’s been abducted, and I gather that ye’re on your way to either pay the ransom or effect a rescue.”

“Either or both – whatever it takes to bring William to safety,” stated John meeting Anne’s steely gaze without flinching.

“What is it they’ve demanded of ye?” Anne asked John, sensing that as guardian, he would be the main target of any ransom demand. Despite his dishevelled appearance, lacking a waistcoat and hair loose upon his shoulders, it was evident from his bearing that he was born of a noble family.

John pushed his plate to one side and pulled the ransom note from a pocket in his coat. He took the lock of William’s hair from within the folds of the paper and, with a wistful smile, took hold of one of Jamie’s hands and carefully placed the dark red curl in the open palm.

“Perhaps you can keep that safe wrapped in the note he left at Kingussie, along with the wooden snake?” suggested John.

Anne was surprised at the way Jamie’s face darkened at the young Lord’s gesture. It had seemed to be a generous offer, yet Fraser’s reaction seemed troubled.

“A sum of gold coin as instructed therein,” said John as he passed the note to Anne Mackintosh. “Also, two sapphires that have been in my possession for many years.”

John paused to allow the woman to read the note and found himself running his thumb over Hector’s ring. He had inspected it earlier that day, still perturbed by the inclusion that had appeared after the incident at the stone circle above Calvine.

“So, ye’re to make the exchange at Craig na Dun on the solstice,” summarised Anne, holding the note in the light of the candle to discern the smudged writing. “And further instructions are to be collected from a tavern in Inverness.”

“Aye – that’s tae be our destination in the morning,” replied Jamie, seeing that John was fidgeting with the sapphire ring once more. He wished there were a way to ensure they would get it back. The thought of handing over such a precious object to that vile witch made his wame curdle.

“Since they’ve been rebuilding Fort George, Inverness is no place for any God-fearing Jacobite, Jamie,” muttered Lady Anne, whose attention was also drawn to the Englishman, who was peering into the gem on his finger as if seeking an answer it could never give. “If you two lads find yourselves in need of a safe retreat, ye’re to come back here. I’ve attics here that no one has been in for years. Ye could hide up there for a month and never be found.”

“That’s a gracious offer, Anne,” replied Jamie with a sad smile, that seemed to suggest that if they met trouble, there would be no retreating. “But I hope that we willna have need tae take ye up on it.”

Lady Anne fetched the decanter of brandy and poured each of them a large glass.

“I think we should raise a toast to the success of your quest, gentlemen.”

“Aye,” agreed Jamie, although he frowned as he saw Anne move a pitcher of water closer to their glasses. A quick glance at John indicated that he was unaware of the custom, for which Jamie was grateful. 

Jamie looked from the glasses of brandy to the pitcher and wondered if Lady Anne would choose to follow the tradition of a silent toast over the pitcher, in memory of James Stuart, ‘King over the water’. However, Anne had seen and understood his frown and shook her head gently.

“Nae, lad, his time has passed. Here’s to the successful rescue of your son,” pausing, Anne looked from Jamie to John, making it clear that she referred to ‘their’ son. “And to the ruination of those that have stolen the bairn from the heart of his family. I pray for the safe return of fathers and son.”

She did not fail to see the way in which Jamie held John’s eyes for a moment before they touched the rims of their glasses and downed the spirits together. After which, John ducked his head down and stared at the ring on his finger, turning it slightly so that it caught the candlelight.

“John? Ye’re looking pale, are ye alright?” whispered Jamie.

“I am … just weary,” replied John quietly, before turning to their hostess. “I am dreadfully sorry, but would you be terribly insulted were I to excuse myself from the table?”

“Not at all. Ye look as if ye’ve not slept well since the boy was taken,” replied Anne, observing the taut lines around Grey’s eyes. “Shall I call the footman to see ye to your rooms? They should be readied by now.”

“Why don’t ye head on up, John?” agreed Jamie, tilting his head to one side as if it would allow him to see inside John’s head to see what was really troubling him. “If ye dinna mind, I’ll stay and talk wi’ Anne a while.”

“Of course not,” shook his head slightly and forced a polite smile. “I imagine there is much the two of you would wish to discuss without an officer of the King’s Army listening in.”

Jamie chuckled at the shrewd insight of his friend, although he was more interested in finding out as much as he could about the goings on in Inverness. The more he knew, the better he could protect John. He watched on with concern as John almost stumbled getting up from the chair he had been sitting on. Although he realised it was probably a combination of exhaustion and alcohol, that was no less worrying.

“My dear Lord John, I suspect he’s more interested in my cellar than he is in our mutual past.” Anne laughed softly and then smiled at John. “Meanwhile, I’ve had the French copper bathtub gifted to me by Charles Stuart wheeled into the bedroom. It can be filled with hot water whenever you wish – just ring for the housemaid. I dare say Fraser here won’t be offended if you make use of it first.”

“Dear God in heaven – you mean a bathtub?” John smiled. “A proper bathtub? With hot water?”

“Ye say that like a man who’s only bathed in ice cold streams and lochs for at least two weeks, if I am not mistaken.”

“You are not mistaken at all, my dear. You shall be teasing me with tales of fine milled soap and linen towels as well.” Closing his eyes, John took a deep breath and then gave a sigh of contentment.

Anne smiled fondly at John as she rang the bell to summon her footman. He appeared promptly as if lurking outside the door, which did not please Jamie. The man had a sly look to his face and a sharp nose. He hoped the man was trustworthy.

“Jimmy here will show ye the way. If there’s anything ye need, just ask him – is that understood, Jimmy, ye’re to look after my guests.”

“Yes, your ladyship,” replied the servant, a distinct Irish brogue to his accent. “I’ve laid out the night shirts and other garments as you requested. I think I have judged the gentlemen’s sizes correctly.”

Only John caught the sly smirk on the footman’s face as he turned away from Lady Anne and moved to hold the door open. He wondered what it was with Irishmen that they all seemed to wish him ill. Sighing to himself, John bade his hostess a good night and told Jamie not to rush on his account.

Jamie squinted as he watched John leave the room, the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his head dipped down once he thought himself out of sight, all of those were signs that Jamie could read plain as day that all was not well.

“So, is it true the bed that Charles Stuart slept in is still here?” asked Jamie as he took another piece of cake and topped up his brandy glass.

“Aye – but dinna fash, I’ll not have your young man sleep in it – the Bonnie Prince would probably haunt the poor lad in his sleep and he looks like a man troubled more than his fair share with the night demons.” Anne paused to cut herself a thin sliver of cake. “What is his story, Jamie? There’s a sadness in his eyes that I canna fathom.“

“Like all of us, his story is his to tell,” said Jamie, surprised that he felt the need to protect John as much as he did, even from the curiosity of an old friend. “What I do ken makes me sad fer him. He deserves better than life has served him so far.”

“Ye love him do ye no’?” asked Anne, on impulse, picking up on the unspoken sentiment that Jamie wanted to make John Grey’s life better.

Jamie grunted to himself and was surprised to hear a slight chuckle from Lady Anne.

“Admit it, Fraser – ye’ve got feelings for that wee lad, do you not?”

“Aye, I’ll admit tae being verra fond of him. He’s made a lot of sacrifices and put a lot at stake on my behalf and he’s been a verra good father to my bairn. He said he’d both kill and die for the sake of the lad – and I ken that tae to be true.” 

“I suspect ye’d kill for him too. Ye care for him as you would a child. Or a lover. I can see he loves you with all his heart.”

“Anne!” spluttered Jamie, almost choking on a mouthful of brandy. “Where do ye get these fanciful notions from?”

“Och, I dinna ken… maybe the fact he looks to you as if you were the sun and the moon, and everything in between. Is that why he’s raising your child?”

“He’s marrit tae the sister of William’s mother, who died not long after bearing the lad. They adopted him. And I asked John if he would look after William – and as he has since told me, it’s a family motto that a Grey never forgets an obligation, and he never has. He’s an honourable man, Anne. Dinna spoil our friendship by doing anything that may bring him harm. Talking of which, I dinna trust that footman o’ yours. Jimmy? That’s never his name.”

“It’s Bonnet if you must know. The family came from Glasgow and Angus took pity on them and offered their youngest lad a job, said he looked smart in the livery.”

“Aye well, if he kens what’s good fer him, he’ll steer clear of me.”

“So, what was it ye do want to talk to me about?” asked Anne. “If ye’ll not talk about that wee Englishman of yours.”

“Fort George,” stated Jamie. “I need to know its weaknesses.”

“Why? Surely ye don’t think that’s where the child is being held?”

“Nae, lass, I ken where we’ll find William and it’s no’ in Inverness,” replied Jamie, slowly shaking his head. “I ken ye were a prisoner there, so what ye can tell me of the layout of the place?”

“A Dhia! Ye’re no’ thinking of storming that bloody fortress are ye?” exclaimed Anne. She knew there were Jacobite sympathisers still within its walls, but she could not see how any such venture would help in the rescue of the kidnapped child.

“Only if that wee bloody Englishman o’ mine gets himself arrested,” came Jamie’s response through gritted teeth.

“Is he likely to?” Anne asked, surprised that it was even a possibility that Jamie was considering.

“Aye – fer the sake of me and my son, he is.” Jamie’s eyes were narrowed as he glanced in the direction of the doorway that John had recently walked through. “But I’ll be damned if I let John Grey suffer any punishment on account of being a decent and loving man.”

Lady Anne Farquharson-Mackintosh heard what Jamie Fraser was not saying out loud. She solemnly nodded.

“So, the layout of the place and the location of rooms where they would keep prisoners of a certain status. That sort of detail would be of great interest to ye?”

“Aye, it would indeed.”

“This Lord John Grey, he means a great deal to ye, doesn’t he?” asked Anne, her voice soft as she laid a hand gently on Jamie’s that was clenched tightly around the stem of his brandy glass.

“More than I would ever ha’ thought possible.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look up Lady Anne Mackintosh - a real historic character with an amazing story.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and John enjoy their evening of luxury in an apartment in Moy Hall, before heading into Inverness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to all those stories and authors I've been neglecting while dealing with the next few chapters. Even half term has involved many long days working, so evenings are spent in writing and research. A lot is going to happen from this part of the story onwards as matters are coming to a head. Support will come from unexpected places, as is so often the case. 
> 
> With many thanks to @Drivablecar for reading through this first and for continuing to support me.

**Chapter 14**

On the landing that led to the different wings of the house, Anne bade Jamie goodnight with a kiss on each cheek. She looked in the direction of the rooms she had allocated for Jamie and his Englishman.

“Take good care of that young man. I’ve a feeling he’s in rare need of some comfort.”

“Aye, lass, that he is,” replied Jamie, with a quirk to his lips. “Thank ye, fer everything. The plans fer the new fort may prove verra useful. Buidheachas, mo charaid.”

As Jamie was about to turn away, Anne caught hold of his arm causing him to wonder what was troubling her.

“Take heed, James, ye’ll have us all arrested, speaking the Gàidhlig!” chuckled Anne as she shook her head in mock disapproval. She then took on a more serious expression. “Talking of which, if ye dinna take more care over showing yer feelings for that wee Englishman, ye’ll be providing the authorities with even more reasons to take ye into custody, if ye ken my meaning.”

As Anne drew him closer, her hand tightened around his wrist.

“I dinna ken what ye -” Jamie was halted halfway through his denial by a sharply raised eyebrow. He huffed in resignation, realising there was no point in trying to hide the truth from this woman. “Is it that obvious?”

“Aye. I ken how it is that friendships forged under shared adversity can lead to great affection,” Anne reached out a delicate hand and stroked Jamie’s cheek. “But for the love of God, dinna get yerselves thrown in gaol or hanged for it – ye’ve got a young bairn depending on the two of you to bring him to safety.”

“Aye, ye make a good point, lass.” Jamie looked down the darkened corridors and then leaned in close to speak quietly to Lady Anne, not wishing to be overheard. “It’s not something I was seeking, ye ken. Twenty years after last seeing my wife alive. Aye, I’ve been with women in that time, but none of them have touched my heart…”

“But the wee Englishman has?” asked Anne, with an encouraging smile.

“He’s always had a place in my heart, otherwise I’d never ha’ trusted him to raise my son,” professed Jamie, earnestly. “And since we’ve been travelling together, with only each other fer company, I’ve found that my feelings for him run deeper than friendship.” Jamie paused, not willing to discuss something that he had barely come to terms with himself. What seemed to come naturally when alone with John under the stars, miles away from any other living soul, seemed in need of defending in the company of others. “Ye’d ha’ picked up on that I imagine.”

“Just be careful, will ye? For the sake of ye both,” whispered Anne, before pointing at the long case clock on the landing. She then made doubly sure that Jamie was aware of the lateness of the hour, before bidding him goodnight. “Is anmoch an uair. Oidhche mhath.”

“Oidhche mhath,” replied Jamie, kissing Anne’s hand as she withdrew and moved away without a sound. 

Walking towards the east wing of the house, Jamie paused as he though he heard a squeak on the stairs. Straining his ears, he heard nothing, so he hastened towards the suite of rooms they had been allocated. Behind the door was a sitting room, leading into two adjoining bedrooms, one on either side. From the warmth that struck him as he entered, there were fires lit in each room. In the sitting room, there was a small dropleaf table with four spindly chairs, two wingback armchairs, a small writing desk and a sideboard upon which sat a decanter of whisky and some glasses. He could see all their bags set down by the sideboard, neatly arranged and apparently wiped clean of mud. Jamie turned the key in the lock behind him and made for the bedroom to the left-hand side – the one that would face the rising sun. He assumed that John would have chosen that one. As he opened the door, he glanced around seeking the man in question, only to spy him, eyes closed, sitting back in the French copper bathtub. He appeared to be asleep. Jamie smiled wistfully to himself. It was not altogether surprising considering the wine and brandy the man had consumed that evening. Added to which the warmth of the log fire in the room would make anyone drowsy, let alone someone with weight of the world on his shoulders.

_Dear John._

“John? Are ye asleep, man?” called Jamie as he stood in the doorway.

“What if I were to say ‘yes’?” came John’s soft-spoken response.

“I would say that ye’re not telling me the whole truth,” stated Jamie, leaning on the door frame. “I’d say that ye’re keeping things from me.”

Moving into the room, Jamie crouched down next to the copper bathtub. John’s head was resting on the raised wooden back, his hair loose, the wet strands clinging to his neck and shoulders. His arms were resting on the sides and Jamie narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of the dark bruising around his upper arms. He scowled, imagining how those injuries had been inflicted.

John made to sit up to reach for a washcloth, but Jamie stopped him by gently pressing a hand against his chest, feeling the ridges of scar tissue under his fingertips.

“Nae, mo leannan. Stay where ye are – let me look after ye.”

Jamie was pleased to see John’s face soften into a relaxed smile at the prospect

“That does sound like a very – agreeable idea. After all I may slip and drown if I were to lean forward.”

“Stay where ye are, _Bertie_ ,” ordered Jamie, with a grin. “Dinna move a muscle.”

Jamie stood up to strip down to his shirt sleeves which he then rolled up above his elbows. Over the edge of the bathtub hung a fragile looking soap dish in which sat a perfectly round bar of soap – as promised. Jamie sniffed it warily, relieved to find that it was not scented with lavender. He was not sure how he would react if John were to smell of that particular scent and he really did not want to find out.

After lathering up the washcloth with the almond scented soap, Jamie proceeded to work his way down each of John’s arms, from tense shoulders to the tips of his fingers, being careful not to press upon the bruises. He noted with a smile that John had kept Hector’s ring on, he knew how it brought him comfort. Jamie then massaged the muscles around John’s neck and back with soap-slicked hands. It was rewarding to hear the sighs from John, as the knots eased under the pressure of his broad thumbs.

He could feel that the bruising caused by the hooves of their high-spirited horses was less tender than it had been, although the purple along his spine had yet to fade, indicating a deep injury. Absently, Jamie rubbed at the lump on his own forehead, which he had kept covered with loose strands of hair. He hoped that a night in a well-appointed stable, with good feed and bedding, would put the beasts in a more cooperative mood for the remainder of their journey. 

“D’ye need any more help getting washed, _Bertie_?” teased Jamie, idly running soapy fingers through the hair on John’s chest. “Because I’d like tae have a bath in there myself, before the water is as cold as the last one I had in that bloody stream.”

“I must somewhat reluctantly confess that I washed everything from the waist down before you arrived,” admitted John, only looking vaguely remorseful. “Although it has been a while since I have had a thorough wash and-”

Jamie wrung out the soggy washcloth and flicked it at John’s thigh, snapping it so it stung.

“Ouch!”

“Ye deserved that. Now, I suggest ye hurry up and get yer wee English arse out of there,” warned Jamie, as he sat down on the chaise longue at the end of the bed. He quickly unfastened his boots, pulled off his stockings and was wriggling out of his grimy breeches before John had a chance to work out where he had seen the towels. “Because there’s no’ room in that tub fer both of us.”

As Jamie stood to pull his shirt over his head, he idly wondered when he had stopped feeling self-conscious about his scarred back around John. Without another thought on the matter, he tugged his arms free of the rolled-up sleeves and flung his sark to the floor to join the rest of the stained and grimy clothing they had strewn across the room between them.

As soon as the shirt cleared Jamie’s field of vision, he saw John staring at him. They had both realised at exactly the same time that they were standing naked in front of one another. Indoors. In a bedroom. Although they had swam naked together and bathed in a stream with no clothes on, the context was different, and they were painfully conscious of the connotations. They had never been completely naked in each other’s company in a room with a bed before. Jamie started to feel his face getting warm and John was not sure where to look. Eventually their eyes met. They shared an awkward smile and then, turning his head, John pointed in the direction of the wooden towel rail, positioned on the other side of the fire to warm the linen towels. As he swivelled around to grab hold of a towel, Jamie found his eyes inexorably drawn to John’s arse. It was smooth, pale, and very muscular… _and he was going straight to hell for what he had done with that arse._

“A Dhia, cuidich mi,” mumbled Jamie under his breath, seeking divine assistance.

“What was that?” asked John, having neatly wrapped a linen towel around his waist before using another to rub the excess water from his hair.

“Nothing ye can help me with, mo charaid,” replied Jamie, as he walked across the room to the fireplace. On a trivet stood a large burnished copper kettle with a cloth wrapped around its handle. Jamie was glad to feel it was still more than half full when he picked it up. He carefully poured the remaining hot water into the bath.

Once he had returned the kettle to its place on the hearth, Jamie stepped over the rim of the bathtub and sunk down into the water. It was blissful and eased all the aches and pains in his limbs that he was only just aware of. 

“Would you like me to-” asked John, bashfully, as he held out a fresh, clean washcloth to Jamie.

“Nae, dinna fash – I’ll be fine.” Jamie took the washcloth and used it to surreptitiously cover his crotch, hoping the way the cloth was being pushed upwards did not alert John to his body’s response to having seen him naked and dripping. Coughing loudly, Jamie tried to think of a suitable distraction. “Perhaps ye could make sure I locked the door tae the corridor – now we’re both naked we’re a bit vulnerable and I dinna trust that bloody footman.”

On his way out of the door towards the sitting room, John paused and turned to face Jamie, as if wondering whether to share his own concerns.

“That Irishman? He made it clear that he has no love of the English, from what I heard him mumble under his breath. Although that is not an uncommon sentiment hereabouts, for particularly good reasons.” John hesitated before continuing. “I have another reason to distrust him– would you believe that he actually tried to trip me on the stairs? He claimed it was clumsiness, but he does not strike me as the clumsy type.”

As John left the bedroom to check the outer door was indeed locked, he could hear the Scotsman threatening dire consequences to any Irishman that crossed him. Not for the first time did John wish he could understand Gaelic.

“The door is locked, and I’ve jammed a chair back under the handle to make sure no one can get in.” stated John as he returned to the bedroom, carrying his saddlebags. “What was that you said you’ll do to that ghastly man?”

“I said that if he tries that trick again, he may find himself going arse over elbow the fast way down the bloody stairs!” growled Jamie. He would make sure to tell Lady Anne his opinion of her footman in the morning. “Wee bastard.”

“While we’re on the subject of possible fates for a certain footman, if you would be so good as to reach down under the tub, you’ll find my … my dagger.” John pressed his lips together in an awkward smile. “I’d be grateful if you would pass it to me. I shall still tuck it under my pillow tonight. Just in case.”

Reaching with one hand to carefully feel for the hidden weapon, Jamie smiled to himself, pleased that John had taken some precautions before getting into a bath naked. Especially in the knowledge that an Irishman with a grudge had access to every room in the house.

“Aye, that’s a good plan, although I’ll be at hand tae keep ye safe from marauding Irish footmen,” said Jamie, as he held out the dagger by the tip. It had only been the previous night that he had meticulously cleaned the dagger of congealed blood. Jamie’s hand trembled slightly as he considered the circumstances that had led to John using it with lethal effect. He still cursed himself for not having been at John’s side the previous night. He huffed to himself. “At least I have a proven record when it comes tae protecting ye from murderous Irishmen wanting tae slit yer throat in the night.”

“Thank you,” said John, gratefully, as he took his dagger by the hilt. He shifted his focus from the shining steel blade to Jamie’s face and back again, looking troubled. “And thank you for… cleaning this. I should never have left it … “

“Dinna fash, John,” said Jamie, sympathising with the mortification of having one’s blade cleaned by another. No matter which side a man fought on, a soldier always took responsibility for his own weapons. “It’s a fine wee dirk and serves ye well. It’s no’ a task I’m unfamiliar with after all.”

“I’ll just … I’ll leave you to enjoy your bath.” John hesitantly stepped away and headed towards the bed.

“I’m verra pleased that ye regained yer appetite this evening,” observed Jamie, deciding that a change of subject was in order. “I dinna think I’d ha’ coped wi’ all that food on my own, not if ye were pecking at it like a wee sparrow.”

“Talking of birds,” started John, suppressing the urge to laugh at the connections his subconscious was making on his behalf. “According to Tom Byrd, it is commonly stated that a hearty meal is consumed by the condemned.”

“I canna imagine where he gets those pearls of wisdom-” Jamie muttered, as he lathered up the soap, sniffing it one more to check that all be could smell was the scent of sweet almonds and nothing else.

“The taverns around Newgate prison by all accounts,” replied John, having been the recipient of all manner of macabre gossip from his valet. “I wonder what he would make of these?”

A clothing rail had been set up alongside the wall to one side of the bed upon which hung two nightshirts, with nightcaps. They were made of a very thick linen, with buttons all the way up the throat and long enough to cover even Jamie Fraser’s toes. John idly wondered how the Scottish aristocracy ever managed to procreate if they wore such garments every night. He lifted one off the rail and held it up to his chin before examining his reflection in the cheval mirror.

“Ye’re no’ thinking o’ wearing that are ye?” spluttered Jamie, emerging from the water, where he had dunked his head, to see John holding a hideous off-white gown in front of himself. “Ye’d look like a damn ghost come tae haunt me.”

“Dear God, no,” came John’s prompt response as he placed the offending article back on its rail “Do you think our hostess would be insulted if I didn’t?”

“Dinna fash. We’ve worse problems than worrying about offending our benefactress by no’ wearing those monstrosities,” said Jamie as he watched John rifling through his saddle bags that he had placed on the chaise longue. “Such as ye being a wanted man and me being on the run fer kidnapping my own bairn.”

“True – it is quite possible that this will be my last night of freedom,” muttered John, quietly, as he fumbled around in his saddle bag for his grooming kit.

Jamie scowled as he caught what John was alluding to – he had hoped that John could let go of his fear of failure.

“I’ll nae listen to talk of defeat, Lieutenant Colonel Grey. We are going to succeed! We are going to get our son back!” Jamie declared with all the bravado of a chieftain leading his troops into battle, even whilst sat naked with naught but a slippery bar of soap to wield in this fist. “Then we shall clear both our names and get ye back tae where ye belong.”

John paused, comb in hand, as he listened to the litany of promises that Jamie was making, appreciating the sentiments, but doubtful of the unmitigated victory that Jamie was optimistically promising. 

“To be totally honest with you, I have absolutely no idea where I belong anymore. But I do know where I feel most at home…” observed John, thinking of the warmth and strength of Jamie Fraser’s embrace. If there was ever a place that felt like home, it was being held in those strong arms. “Sadly, that is a situation incompatible with the duties expected of me.”

“Surely yer home will be back at Helwater, with William and Isobel?” asked Jamie, frowning, even as he considered how much he would miss John when that time came. He twisted his head around to look at John, who had sat down at the dressing table that was positioned in an alcove. He could see that John was pulling his comb through wet strands of hair, barely conscious of his actions. It seemed that John had not heard his question. “John? I asked if ye would no’ be returning tae the Lake District with William.”

“Helwater? Probably not. I may yet be called upon to take up the posting my brother negotiated on my behalf.” John’s bitterness was audible in his clipped tones. “Although I should not miss Lord Dunsany or his wife – not since they adamantly refused to countenance my argument that you had no connection to William’s abduction.”

Jamie grunted to himself as he hoisted up one leg at a time to scrub away the ingrained mud from his calves. He was not surprised at the capricious nature of the Dunsany’s but was pleased that John had advocated on his behalf.

“Ye told me back in Edinburgh that yer brother had reinstated yer commission. He is no’ planning fer ye to go overseas again, is he?” Jamie frowned, concerned for John’s welfare. From what he had heard from John, each overseas posting had brought him closer to death, as demonstrated by the scars upon the man’s body. From his own experiences, Jamie knew that a soldier could only survive so many active campaigns before his luck ran out. He let the washcloth drop into the water as he glared at John, wanting to know what future his brother had in mind for him.

“Overseas? Yes, although I suspect the location of the posting may change despite the outcome of our quest.” John set down his comb and picked up a carved seashell from the dressing table, thinking it a sign that he should tell Jamie everything. “When I was last at Argus House, Hal told me that he had secured a diplomatic posting for me. He was so fucking proud of himself. Bastard actually slapped his damn thigh when he announced I would need to buy some linen suits, as I would be spending the next several years in Jamaica-”

“Jamaica?” repeated Jamie, shocked. He had anticipated another posting to somewhere on the continent, but nowhere that far-flung. He could not understand what Earl Melton was thinking of, sending his younger brother so far from all who cared for him. If Minerva Grey had not informed Jamie that her husband was very fond of John, he would be convinced that Hal detested his brother. “That’s a verra long way away, John.”

“So I’ve been told,” replied John despondently. He apparently could not face Jamie, because he was engaged in the futile task of trying to braid his own hair with shaking hands. “Hal thought it quite amusing that I should serve as a governor once more. He joked that I should count myself as most fortunate for this time it would be on a tropical island, and not in a prison at the freezing centre of the arse-end of nowhere.”

“Aye?” Jamie tried to imagine John as a colonial governor, wigged and powdered, entertaining the wealthy and powerful. He had to admit to himself that it was not an easy task with John sat there, attired in nothing more than a towel around his waist, fighting to get his own hair under control. However, he believed John would make a good governor – fair and just, although he could not help but wonder if that was something that John desired. He had glimpsed a sight of a more carefree John, galloping through the glens and tumbling in the hay in a barn. Jamie realised it had been seeing John in the Highlands that had escalated the development of the strong affection he felt for the man.

“Is that what ye want, John, the life of a governor?” Jamie’s question was blunt, yet it pierced the very essence of their discussion.

“Do you imagine that I have any say in the matter?” sighed John heavily, meeting Jamie’s gaze in the mirror. His eyebrows moved upwards as if to emphasise that the answer was obvious. “Yet another posting to a remote location – a convenient solution to the problem of my very existence.”

Jamie frowned as he tried to fathom what John was saying and why Hal would be so keen to send him away.

“Can ye no’ refuse to take up the commission?” asked Jamie, wringing the water out of the washcloth with two hands, as if his fists were around Hal Grey’s neck. It occurred to him that John’s life was often controlled by others who did not always have his best interests at heart, but their own. That was something else they had in common. Even at Ardsmuir, John had been as much a prisoner as the other inmates. Despite having a better furnished cell, it was still damp and plagued by rats, even after the cat he had requested had been installed. It had been the completion the fortress renovations that had secured John’s release as well as his.

“I doubt that I shall have any say in my future with the army, not now.” John had given up with his attempts at taming his wet hair into three strands of equal thickness for braiding and just pulled it back and clubbed it with a length of ribbon he had found on the dressing table. He turned to look at Jamie, his eyes dulled, as if resigned to his fate. “But if Hal decides that I am still to go to Jamaica, I shall have no option.”

“But what about Willie and Isobel?” _And me?_ The unspoken plea felt like a lump in Jamie’s throat. As he looked into John’s sad eyes, he came to the realisation that John’s fatalistic outlook was defined by the lack of control he had over his own fate. By turning his back on both family, his own and that by marriage, and regiment to ride to William’s rescue, with Jamie at his side, John had made a choice that would have far-reaching consequences for him, no matter the outcome.

“I was informed that, if I were to make a success of the venture, there would be a chance that my family could be allowed to join me,” explained John, not particularly enthusiastically. “Although I hate to think of poor Isobel on the journey across the ocean. The dear girl got dreadfully seasick on a sailboat when we took William out on the lake.”

Even as he smiled at the image of John taking Willie sailing on the lake, Jamie shuddered as he felt for Isobel – trips to France and across the Irish sea had given him more than enough cause for anguish. He could only imagine the horrors of crossing an entire ocean. It would surely be the death of him, were he ever to be forced to make such a voyage.

Having not broken eye contact with John, he was also aware of what John was not putting into words. It was obvious that he had no desire to go to Jamaica. Selfishly, Jamie knew damn well that he would miss John dreadfully if he were to be sent that far away. The awful conclusion dawned on him that if that were to happen, he may never see John again.

“A Dhia, John … I dinna ken what tae say.” Jamie sighed, as he held in his hands the halves of the washcloth that he had accidentally torn in two. “But if ye ever need a place to seek sanctuary, my door shall always be open fer ye.”

“Do not make offers you may not be able to honour.” A brief glimmer of hope shone in John’s eyes at the thought of taking refuge from the world with the Scotsman he loved so dearly. A pipedream mayhap, but a happy one.

“Ye should ken me better than that, John!” asserted Jamie, needing to be taken seriously. “I once told ye that ye would always have my friendship – and nae matter what should happen, I shall honour that promise.”

“Thank you. That is very generous of you … but let’s not worry about my career prospects until we know for certain that I have a future.” John forced a smile to his lips as he looked into Jamie’s sparkling blue eyes. The scowl and beetled brow he received in return made it clear that Jamie did not approve of his dismissive attitude to his survival prospects.

John got up from the stool at the dressing table and tightened the towel around his waist. Turning to look towards the bed and then back at Jamie, he bit his lip before speaking.

“Do you have any preference for which side of the bed I leave for you?”

“I dinna care, John,” replied Jamie, chuckling to himself because it had not even occurred to John that there was second bedroom across from the central sitting room. His wee Englishman had just assumed they would sleep together. And what made Jamie even more amused was that he was not bothered in the least.

Rinsing his hair one more time using a small bowl of clean water scooped up from the pail next the tub, Jamie shook his head, scattering droplets of water across the hearth rug and onto the fire, to hiss as they turned to steam. Feeling clean and invigorated, Jamie stepped out of the tub and took the remaining towels from the rail to rub his hair and body dry, not bothering to cover up at all. After all, John had seen him naked on more than one occasion. After roughly tying his damp hair back from his face, he turned towards the bed, about to tease John, when he saw that the man was flat on his back, limbs sprawled out and the linen towel fallen open. It appeared as if he had lain back and promptly passed out.

“Ciamar a tha thu, mo chridhe?” asked Jamie, quietly, not expecting an answer, even if John could understand him. He was not surprised that John had succumbed to sleep as soon as he had sunk into the soft mattress. Jamie walked around to the side of the bed that John had claimed. “I think ye’ll feel better under the sheets than on top of them.”

Jamie took the opportunity to have a good look at John while he was oblivious to his attentions. He inspected the state of the multiple bruises, and even the light scratch under his chin from where he had held his sword to John’s throat in Stirling to save him from a gang of thieves and scoundrels. Lifting John’s arm and placing it by his side, he could see the impressions of sharp nails next to the darkened round bruises and swore under his breath. The sound of which roused John from his slumbers.

“What is it?” demanded John, scrambling to reach under his pillow, suddenly alert to possible attack.

“Nothing – well not here. I just … I saw those marks on yer arms and it made me mad. Tae think of those bastards handling ye sae roughly.”

John lifted his arm and twisted it around until he could see the marks left by the brute whose thoughts were so focused on acts of depravity that he had barely seen the gleam of John’s blade before it was too late. John shuddered and clenched his eyes fast shut as if he could put those images from his head.

Sensing John’s distress, Jamie dropped his towels to the floor and clambered up onto the bed to lie beside his friend. Pulling John into the cradle of his arms, Jamie kissed him without thinking, initially a brushing of lips and then fully on the mouth opening his lips and pressing his tongue in as they had before, this time tasting the heady mixture of spirits and wine over his tongue. He then slowly pressed a series of kisses down John’s throat, paying special attention to the scar on his neck from where that bastard Everett had tried to kill him, before moving further down, tracing a route with the tip of his tongue across the landscape of scars from duels and battles as he made his way southwards, each time kissing the wounds as he encountered them.

“Is this alright, mo chridhe?” asked Jamie as he paused in his progress. He wanted to distract John, to give him a good night’s sleep, with pleasant memories to dream of. He wanted to do something for John. As they had explored this intimate aspect to their relationship, it occurred to him that so far they had come together as a means to release tension, and that John had let him dictate what they did. It seemed that it was time to give John comfort and a release from the fears and worries that would not let him rest.

“That… that feels wonderful. Please don’t stop.” John sucked his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it to keep the sounds of pleasure from escaping from his lips. A small frown creased his forehead slightly as if a sudden insecurity had raised its head. “That is, unless you want to stop…”

“Ye never told me what was done to ye – so I dinna ken whether anything I may do –”

“Do not worry, there is nothing you would do that could trouble me.”

Jamie shrugged, unconvinced as he continued downwards, running his hands over John’s chest and hips, the skin warm and still slightly damp. I was as he reached down between John’s legs, that he found him unexpectedly soft.

“What’s wrong John? Ye are no’ –” Jamie was surprised that John was not aroused.

“I… I really cannot imagine.” John covered his face with his hand, hoping Jamie would not see how pink he was with mortification. The man he desired more than any other, paying such special attention to his body, and he could not rise to the occasion. “Perhaps I drank too much of that Rhenish wine?”

“Let me see about that,” murmured Jamie, recalling the time when he was recovering from his own trauma, when he had been unable to respond to Claire. He reached out and placed his hand over John’s. “There was something that Claire would do fer me, when my head wouldna let my body respond. Maybe that would work on ye.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked John, peering out from between his fingers to see Jamie looking at him with concern.

“Well it might be easier if I were tae show ye.” Jamie frowned, not quite knowing how to explain it in words that would not have him going as red as John. He shuffled around on the wide bed until his head was closer to John’s thighs than his chest.

Carefully taking hold of John’s flaccid member in the palm of a hand, as if coaxing a stunned bird back to alertness. Jamie gently breathed warm air onto the man’s cock, before touching his lips to the skin, surprised at the velvet smoothness, something his lips were sensitive enough to detect but his calloused hands had not. Noting the way that John’s breathing had become deeper, his taut abdomen sucking in as took in one gasping breath after another, Jamie was emboldened to continue. He moistened his lips with his tongue and then kissed his way from root to tip and then took the end of John’s penis in his mouth and gently sucked – swirling his tongue over the crown. Feeling John swell and shift beneath him encouraged Jamie to be even bolder, to clutch hold of John’s strong thighs and push them apart so he could lie between them.

A combination of stimulation from lips, tongue and fingers eventually brought John to full arousal and then, eventually, to a crashing orgasm, that had his legs shuddering, even as Jamie held his thighs tightly. The feeling of being responsible for such a response reminded him of how it had been with Claire, how it had felt to wield that power in such a way as to render a loved one insensate with pleasure. It was no different – bringing a lover to a pinnacle and then letting them fall over the edge, only to be there to catch them safely on the other side – the desire to give pleasure exceeding the need to be a beneficiary of such delights. If that meant that he loved John Grey, he could accept that.

Seeing John, naked and relaxed of limb made Jamie happy – he had achieved his aim in soothing John and taking his mind off everything that was troubling him. His past, his near future and distant future – a landscape littered with uncertainties and peril. He crawled upwards, over John’s body until he lay alongside him once more.

“What about you?” mumbled John, reaching out to take hold of Jamie’s cock, only to have his hand gently moved away.

“Dinna fash, tonight I wanted to take care of ye, John. Ye deserve tae be treated well, to be cared for.”

Jamie gathered John to his broad chest and let the soft mattress cushion them. It was never going to be enough. Never enough time. Never enough closeness.

The clock in the hallway outside their room chimed the hour and Jamie was surprised that it was as late as it was – three o’clock in the morning. Five hours after they had arrived and four hours before they would have to get up to take their leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following morning saw them shaving before getting dressed. The valet had arrived at their door at six o’clock with an armful of clothes. He appeared shocked that the nightshirts had not been worn and that there were soiled clothes and towels strewn across the floor.

It was fortunate that the door had been locked and barricaded, otherwise he may have been even more shocked to have found two naked men wrapped around each other’s bodies, barely covered by the quilted bedspread.

There was a fine assortment of clothing to choose from, all apparently left behind by previous guests, laundered and then kept available for future guests. John chose a dark blue suit with silver buttons, while Jamie found a plain, darkest forest green outfit that was broad enough across the chest to fit him comfortably. They smiled as they looked up and saw how the outfits complemented one another.

“Ye look a lot more like yer old self, John,” said Jamie with an appreciative smile.

“I feel properly outfitted for the first time in weeks.” John huffed as he pulled down the points of the waistcoat and then arranged the frilled cuffs of his shirt once more. He then cast an eye over Jamie’s attire. “The green suits you well, although now I wonder how handsome you would look in the Fraser plaid.”

“Maybe one day, ye’ll get to find out,” said Jamie with a wink. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they entered the breakfast room together they were greeted by Lady Anne, who was pouring herself a cup of tea. She gestured at the other cups and saucers on the table and acknowledged their eager nods by pouring them some tea as well.

“I’ve had the cook pack some of the spiced buns, some cheese, fruit for your onward journey. For my breakfast, I shall be having some warmed buns with butter and raspberry jam, however, Angus likes chops,” explained Lady Anne as they took their seats either side of her. “I thought you gentlemen would also enjoy some. Am I right? Ye can have spiced buns and porridge as well if ye like.”

“That sounds like a feast tae me – what about ye, John?” Jamie rubbed his hands together gleefully, and then squinted at John, hoping he had still had an appetite.

“It does indeed sound most delicious. I’ve not eaten chops since I was last at the Beefsteak Club – now that is somewhere I shall sorely miss.”

Catching the wistful tone to John’s voice, Jamie nudged his foot under the table. His memories of the place were less fond, being dominated by those of the night that challenges were made. One of which had almost led to John’s death in that damn duel.

“Ah, here he is now – my husband, Angus Mackintosh,” announced Lady Anne, distracting Jamie from his thoughts.

Both John and Jamie got to their feet, bowed and shook hands with the older man, as Lady Anne introduced them to him one at a time.

“So, ye must be the wee brother of Earl Melton.” Angus Mackintosh tilted his head to one side as if trying to discern a family likeness.

“For my sins, yes I am. May I ask why you are interested? Do you perhaps know of my brother?”

“I was at Prestonpans. Captain of the Black Watch. It was said that our position was betrayed by a wee lad attached to the forty-sixth regiment. He was found tied to a tree –”

“ _Shit_ ” – muttered Jamie. “Aye – I have tae confess tae being the one that tied that lad to the tree. But he was a brave wee lad I’ll have ye ken,” added Jamie, without letting on that the ‘wee lad’ was sat there in their midst sipping at a cup of milky tea.

Angus guffawed and then slapped Jamie on the back. The conversation then lightened up, much to John’s relief, with discussion of how Angus had been taken captive after Prestonpans and then his wife after Culloden, with each being the one to have the other released on each occasion.

John was bemused at how the couple were still on such good terms with one another considering their history of supporting opposite sides during the rising. Then he looked at Jamie and an ironic smile greeted him, as his friend took another mouthful of the thick pork chop he had helped himself to. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After breakfast it did not take long to establish that their horses had been rested, well fed and groomed, all to Jamie’s satisfaction. Bidding farewell to Lady Anne, they set off for Inverness, to collect the final details from the kidnappers. Although Jamie knew the precise location of the stone circle referred to in the ransom note, it was important that neither of them let their adversaries know that – especially as Geillis Duncan appeared to be the spider at the centre of the web.

“So, ye’re to hand over the original note in exchange for the final instructions?” Jamie asked for confirmation once more. He was as anxious as John was not to put a foot wrong, not when it had cost so much just to have reached Inverness.

“Yes – at the inn on the main road into the town, at the bottom of the hill upon which sits the castle,” repeated John. It did not trouble him to go over the details with Jamie just in case they were to be separated at any point. “The one used most by travellers I would assume.”

“Aye, that makes a lot of sense.” Jamie squinted at John, sensing that he was keeping something from him. He had cried out in his sleep during the night and had nearly struck Jamie when he had been attempting to comfort him. In the morning, John had acted as if he did not remember having woken up.

As they rode slowly into town, Jamie was unnerved by the quietness and orderliness of the streets. There were groups of soldiers loitering around as to be expected. Lady Anne had explained to him that, although most of the troops were stationed at the new fort to the east, the army still maintained a heavy presence in Inverness itself. As Jamie glanced from side to side as if looking for a particular address, he saw groups of three to four men, apparently not paying any attention to the two travellers, slowly progressing past the shop fronts and taverns towards the coaching inn. John had his hat tipped forward, as Jamie had suggested, and his cloak pulled up tightly around his shoulders. There was a balance to be had between appearing inconspicuous and being hidden. Suspicions run rife through the King’s Army in this town, especially after the castle had been rendered defenceless during the Rising of 1746.

Jamie’s sidelong glances picked up on the fact that the soldiers were far from idle, they were all primed for action– hands resting on either the hilts of swords, or upon the grips of pistols tucked into belts. They were all on alert yet pretending otherwise and that could not bode well.

Rounding the corner, the hair at the back of Jamie’s neck stood on end. There was something dreadfully wrong. Snapping his head around quickly, he caught sight of a man in livery – that damn Irish footman – who saw Jamie looking in his direction and smirked, whilst patting his pocket. He then ducked through an archway and out of sight.

By the time Jamie’s focus returned to the road they were traveling on, he saw two groups of redcoats merge, moving from opposite sides of the street to coalesce directly in their path. Jamie pulled up Mac Dubh before he barged into the back of John’s horse.

He kept his head down, curling his shoulders forward to make him look much smaller than he was. They had agreed on the way in, that should danger make itself evident, they would revert to the roles of lieutenant colonel and local guide. That gave them some advantage as John’s identity had already been disclosed, which was why he was the one to ride in front.

From behind the assembled infantrymen rode a major, his pockmarked face grim as he gave orders for the men to stand aside as his fearsome black charger made its way through their ranks. He came to a halt directly in front of John. Raising his pistol, he aimed it in the general direction of John’s chest and ordered him to dismount.

As John slowly got down from his saddle, he discretely gestured for Jamie to look after the horse. Jamie’s heart stuttered in his chest as he reached a hand into his cloak to grasp his own pistol. He would wait and follow John’s lead, but if that beetroot-faced bastard looked as if he were going to pull the trigger at any point, he would shoot the man dead rather than risk him killing John. He would face the consequences if they did not make a speedy escape, but he had taken hold of Kaphero’s reins to affect such an escape. He had done it before, and he would do it again. 

“May I ask the nature of my offence?” asked John, retaining a mask of polite inquiry and not showing any sign of panic or fear. “I have only just arrived in Inverness.”

“I understand that you are Lieutenant Colonel Grey of the forty-sixth regiment?”

“I am not currently commissioned-” began John, deliberately misinterpreting the question.

“That is not how I understand it. And as you have not refuted your identity, I shall assume you are Grey.” The Major stayed on horseback and prompted his horse to take a step closer to John. “We had heard that you were travelling to Inverness and that you failed to take up your orders from London.”

“As you can plainly see, I am here in Inverness and I am not in uniform.” John spread his arms wide, holding out his cloak to reveal his outfit. The tone of voice made it clear that he found the Major’s comments tiresome.

Jamie gritted his teeth wondering if John’s sarcasm was the best weapon at his disposal if it did nothing but anger the man pointing a gun in his face.

“Then it is equally evident to me, sir, that you are guilty of desertion,” spat the Major. “Do you deny that charge, sir?”

“Ah, I see that there has been a dreadful misunderstanding,” said John, a polite smile on his face as he calmly set about removing his gloves, a finger at a time. His demeanour was not that of a man facing arrest and punishment. “Not your fault at all – communications from London take a devil of a long time to reach these distant outposts. I have merely postponed taking up my commission, in full knowledge of my commanding officer.”

“Postponed?” blustered the man looming over John, his cheeks puffed up with righteous outrage. “Why on earth would you do that, man?”

“My commanding officer knows the details. All I am liberty to share with you is that I have urgent business in the area that will be concluded by the end of the week.” John spoke loudly and clearly for all to hear, as if was ensuring there were witnesses. “Thereafter I shall be making my return to -”

“Well, I am sorry to spoil your plans, sir,” interrupted the Major, summoning two of the foot soldiers to move forward. “But I am under orders to place you under arrest. As far as the army are concerned you are guilty and will face court martial.”

Bristling with barely concealed rage, Jamie fought to keep his face hidden and his hands out of sight. His worst fears were coming true and he could not bear it.

“It is not desertion if I were intending to return to take up my duties-” countered John, adamantly taking a stand, even though he was severely outnumbered.

“I have no evidence that you were intending to return to London, though do I?”

“You have my word,” retorted John, his jaw clenching.

“The word of an officer travelling in the Highlands, out of uniform, accused of assaulting three soldiers in Calvine does not carry any weight with me, sir.”

Jamie hope that John could feel his presence behind him. He wanted to know he was there, ready to act whenever he gave the sign. He swore under his breath when John held out his hands to either side, palms up to show he was not holding any weaponry. Their agreed signal that he would allow himself to be arrested without resistance and that Jamie should keep out of it.

“So, Major, what are your intentions?” asked John, his chin pointing upwards. “I have a right to know, as will my brother.”

“I intend to take you into custody. You will be held here at the castle, before being transferred to Fort George. You will then be informed whether you will be sentenced here or in London.”

“I see. Well in that case, may I return this cloak to my guide first?” asked John, slowly unbuckling the cloak that Jamie had indeed lent him. “Mine got ruined in a storm and this fellow was kind enough to procure for me a replacement.”

“What the … ? Go on then, but don’t dally,” agreed the officer, reluctantly. He was as aware as any of the men around him that John Grey outranked them all and that if there had indeed been a miscommunication, he did not want to be held to account for badly treated the brother of Earl Melton. “You will no longer require it. You will be provided with unform to wear while you are detained.”

“And - I also need to pay him for his services to date. If that is acceptable?” asked John as if his request was perfectly reasonable.

“Just hand over your sword and pistol first, sir and then you may pay off the Scot.” The man huffed as he glared at the surly character hunched up in the saddle of the fine beast as if standing guard over Grey. “There are few enough local guides willing to work for the English, without giving the impression that they are never paid.”

“Indeed.” John pressed his lips together as he unbuckled his sword belt and handed over his rapier, along with the silver-mounted, French travelling pistol that had been a gift from Stephan Von Namtzen.

He then shrugged out of the cloak and turned on his heel to face Jamie, who had slid down from his saddle as soon as he realised what John was doing. As Jamie approached, John reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small purse of coin and a folded piece of paper.

“There you go, my good man, that should suffice for your needs. Thank you for your services. I am afraid I shall no longer be requiring your assistance.” A sad smile on his face, John handed over the folded ransom note to Jamie, meeting his eyes to make sure that he understood what was happening. “Here, take this receipt for reimbursement for the camping equipment.”

John reached up past Jamie to stroke the ear of Kaphero, scratching him just the way he liked best. “I would be grateful if you would look after the horse for me. Perhaps the stables where we lodged last night could take him in?”

Jamie just nodded, understanding what John was referring to and appreciating his discretion by not mentioning Moy Hall by name. Lady Anne certainly would have Kaphero taken care of in her stables, but as far as Jamie was concerned, that was not going to be necessary, because John was going to need his horse to ride to Craig na Dun to rescue their son.

John then hurriedly bundled the thick cloak into his arms, and as he did so, he grabbed hold of one of Jamie’s hands under cover of folds of wool. Not taking his eyes from Jamie’s, he thrust Hector’s ring into the palm of his hand and closed Jamie’s fingers over it securely.

“There you go, I think the pockets are empty, but feel free to keep anything you find left behind. I doubt I shall have need of any of that now. I’m afraid my business in Scotland has been curtailed, but I wish you success in all your onward ventures. Stay safe, my friend and … and do give your son my fondest regards.”

Jamie had no idea how John was forcing his voice to remain level and not betray the emotions he could see swimming in his eyes. His own heart was in his throat, preventing him from taking breath or saying a word in response. He had not thought that John would be snatched from him so swiftly – he had assumed he would be able to defend him, but there was nothing he could do, not against the dozen or so soldiers standing ready behind the officer who was about to take John away from him.

Unable to speak, Jamie made an inarticulate sound in his throat and then doffed his hat to John before muttering:

“Thank ye, sir. May God bless ye and take care of ye.”

“You, too,” John smiled sadly, and it was evident that he was wondering if it would be the last time he would speak to Jamie.

As John pulled his arms down to his sides, Jamie clutched hold of the cloak. Not being able to reach out and touch John was making the parting even more heart wrenching.

“Aye.” Jamie nodded as he tucked his head down, partly to remain unrecognised and partly to hide the tears that were threatening to spill over. John did not need to see those. However, by the time he had wiped his face and regained his composure, he looked up only to see John being pushed towards a wall, his upper arms firmly gripped by the two soldiers either side of him.

Jamie cried out and darted forward, his free hand reaching into his coat for his pistol, only to find a thin hand grab hold of him around the wrist.

“Get yer hands off me!” roared Jamie angrily, spinning around to see who dared prevent him intervening, only to find himself staring into the face of his nephew.

“Ye cannae do that, Uncle Jamie,” whispered Ian. “It will only make things worse if ye’re arrested as well.”

“Young Ian?” hissed Jamie between his teeth, as he wrenched his arm free. “What the bloody hell are ye doing here?”

“Uncle Jamie! Ye must come with me!” Ian’s eyes were fierce like those of a wild cat.

“Go to hell”

Ian took hold of the reins of both horses and pulled them away down the alleyway from where he had emerged. As expected, Jamie followed the horses, not wanting to lose them.

“Come back here ye wee bastard!” said Jamie, knowing he would need the horses to rescue John.

Snatching the reins back from his nephew, Jamie was glowering down at the lad as if he would strike him. But the defiant glare that was returned may as well have come from his sister herself.

“Ye’ve tae follow me. Now, Uncle Jamie,” pleaded the boy, his eyes widening as he saw what was happening on the main thoroughfare behind Jamie. “But please, dinna look back.”

Jamie did not need to see. He could hear the jeering of soldiers and the unmistakable sound of manacles being locked around a prisoner’s wrists. He knew that if he turned around and saw John in chains, his hammering heart would break free from his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Jamie storm the castle?   
> Find out in Chapter 15! 
> 
> And just what is Young Ian doing in Inverness?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for late update - life has been busy, teaching through lockdown and never having time to write these days ... anyway, it's a long one.

** Chapter 15 **

The lane dipped down as they headed off the main street, into the shadows and down towards the riverbank. The sound of seagulls screeching as the wheeled overhead echoed the sounds inside Jamie’s head. He pulled impatiently at his horse’s reins until the lane widened sufficiently for him to draw level with his nephew who had taken charge of John’s horse. As he did so, he grabbed hold of Ian by his elbow and dragged him to one side, hemming him in against the wall of a dilapidated cottage.

“What’s going on, Ian Òg?” demanded Jamie, his face white with rage. “And what the hell d’ye think yer playing at? I told ye tae stay in Lallybroch and tae keep out of this.”

“Ye’re going to have tae trust me, Uncle Jamie. This time ye’ve nae choice,” came Ian’s surly response as he wriggled free, rubbing his arm as he did so. After glaring at Jamie, he snorted and pointed in the direction they were heading. “Just follow me. Dinna ask questions, ye’ll find out soon enough.”

If it had been anyone else other than his sister’s youngest child, Jamie would have pointed a pistol in their face and refused to go any further without answers. However, he would never raise a hand against his sister’s son, and the boy knew it. Not getting any answers and angry at being led in the opposite direction to the one his gut was telling him he should be taking, Jamie was seething. If he had not believed it would get John killed, he would have leapt onto Mac Dubh’s back and galloped like the devil back to the main street to extricate the man from the hands of those who would do him harm. But he realised that he would be quickly surrounded and any attempt to rescue John in broad daylight was only likely to get them both shot. He may have been more tempted to take the risk if it were not for William, who depended on at least one of them surviving long enough to rescue him from his abductors.

Ahead of him, Ian turned into the back yard of a house overlooking the river. A small fishing boat was tied up to a rickety jetty and an array of lobster pots and nets were spread out in the sun to dry. In the yard itself, two women sat on a bench next to each other, splitting silvery herring and gutting them before tossing them into a barrel of salt, ready for smoking. A large herring gull was greedily stabbing its beak into the bucket of offal. The smell of the fish guts was overwhelming and nearly had Jamie retching. It reminded him of the sea – in a bad way. Jamie’s presence garnered no more than a wary look from one of the women, who nudged the other. The glint of the sharp filleting knifes brandished with vigour was sufficient to tell Jamie that he was not to go anywhere near either of them. 

After nodding his head politely to the two fearsome women, Jamie looked up to see a lanky figure sat astride a low wall separating the yard from the steep bank down to the river’s edge. A young man, with his face turned up to catch the warmth from the early morning sun. An extremely familiar face. Jamie shook his head in disbelief.

“Bonjour, milord,” came the nonchalant greeting from the young man, as if not surprised by Jamie’s presence.

“Fergus, mo ghille!” Jamie frowned and shook his head. “What the hell are ye doing here?”

“I may as well be here, after all you ’ave shut the shop in Edinburgh, so I ’ave no reason to be anywhere else, do I?” Fergus stood up, swung a leg elegantly over the wall and approached Jamie to take the reins of his horse.

“It is good tae see ye, Fergus.” Jamie paused to look from Ian to Fergus, able to discern the two were hiding something from him. “I hope there’s been nae trouble at Lallybroch?”

“None at all. There was nothing to find to incriminate anyone.” Fergus gave Jamie a reassuring smile. “And even Young Ian managed not to look as if he were hiding anything. However, I must warn you-”

Ian coughed loudly preventing Fergus from completing his sentence. Unfortunately, his actions made Jamie even more suspicious. 

“A Dhia!” Jamie rubbed a hand roughly across his face. He could have persuaded his nephew and Fergus to either let him go about his business or to help him effect a raid on what was left of the castle, but not his beloved sister.

“Aye, ye’ve guessed right.” Ian answered the unasked question. “All I’ll say is that mam’s no’ verra happy wi’ ye.” 

“And yer da? Is he here as well?” demanded Jamie, even as Young Ian took the reins of his horse having got Fergus to take charge of John’s stallion.

“No – he’s still at Broch Tuarach. But he’s no’ too pleased wi’ ye either.”

“A Dhia, cuidich mi,” murmured Jamie. “Whose house is this anyway?”

Jamie took a moment to survey the whitewashed fisherman’s cottage that he had been led to, wondering why he had allowed himself to be brought here, whilst John was being dragged off in the opposite direction. A queasiness overcame him that had nothing to do with the stench of fish entrails and everything to do with imagining John’s fate.

“Our Joan’s seanair – he’s out at sea still, so ye’ll no’ have to face him. He’s a miserable auld bastard.”

“How is she doing, young Jamie’s lass?” asked Jamie, recalling the young wife of his namesake. “I heard she’s expecting a fourth bairn.”

“Stop playing fer time, Uncle,” chastised Ian, with a knowing expression on his face that belied his young age. “She kens ye’re here – I sent Fergus back to tell her.”

Ian pointed at the door and folded his arms over his chest, looking just like his mother, despite having fair hair and being wiry like his father.

“I canna stay long, a mac mo pheathar.” Jamie narrowed his eyes, trying to impress on his sister’s son that he could not afford to dally. “I have some verra important business tae attend to.”

“Aye, we ken all about that!” retorted Ian with more than a hint of bitterness. “That’s what she wants tae talk to ye about.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tentatively pushing the door open into the parlour of the cottage, Jamie only got one foot over the threshold before his head snapped back with the force of Jenny Murray’s hand slapping him hard around the face.

“What the-?”

“That’s fer no’ telling me ye had a son and that I’m an auntie,” announced the fierce Scotswoman before she raised her hand once more, this to time to back hand Jamie across his other cheek. “And that’s fer trying tae keep it from me that yer son is being brought up by a bloody Englishman and the sister of the lass ye swived!”

“A Dhia! It’s no’ like that!” protested Jamie, holding his hands up in front of his face to protect him from any more blows from his sister.

“How would I ken how it is, mo bhràthair? Ye’ve never told me a bloody thing! All I ken is that ye recovered enough from losing the love of yer life, tae take a woman tae yer bed and get her wi’ child. No’ a bloody word tae me or any of yer own family.” Jenny pierced Jamie’s soul with the glare she was aiming at him. “And ye never thought tae mention it when I got ye marrit tae that Laoghaire. Ye took on her wee lasses as yer own, without letting on that ye were already a father. Did ye nae think I might not have forced ye tae on take that spiteful wee shrew if I’d ha’ known?”

“Ye didna give me much choice!” snarled Jamie, angered at his sister’s apparent priorities.

Jamie had regretted that lapse of resolve from the moment he had agreed to Jenny’s suggestion upon returning to Lallybroch. He had been heavy of heart and missing his son. In retrospect, it occurred to Jamie that it had not been just William that he was mourning the loss of from his life. Over the years at Helwater, he had grown to look forward to the visits from John Grey and his gentle, intelligent company. John had become a constant in his life and even though it had taken the kidnapping of William to bring them together once more, it was as if the intervening years had never been. He closed his eyes and offered a quiet prayer for John’s safety, vowing to do whatever it took to free him.

“Damn ye, James Fraser, are ye even listening tae me?” complained Jenny Murray, her eyes flashing with anger. “Dear God, lad, I love ye and hate ye in equal measure right now.”

“Aye – I ken how ye feel,” sighed Jamie, breathing heavily as he tried to quell his fury at being confronted with family arguments when he was more troubled by the fate of not only his son, but John Grey. “So, ye ken I have a son and that he’s been kidnapped, aye? If so, why are ye no’ letting me get on wi’ what I need tae do?”

“Can ye at least tell me why ye left him with a bloody Englishman in the first place? Why no’ bring him tae me to raise?” Jenny took a step closer to her brother, hands of hips, belligerent to the last. “I’d ha’ brought the wee lad up as if he were one of my own. As a proper Scotsman, too, no’ some dandified gentleman.”

Jamie had reached the point where he could no longer let his sister impugn the honour of both himself and John. 

“The bairn’s mother died no’ long after giving birth tae him. His grieving grandmother and aunt brought him up and they loved that boy!” retorted Jamie angrily, although the pursed lips and furrowed brow should have warned him against inadvertently suggesting an English aunt had greater stake in the child than a Scottish auntie. He gently rested his hands on his sister’s shoulders, needing to hold her attention. “The bairn’s grandfather asked Lord John tae be his guardian – because he’s a good man.”

“But if ye are the bairn’s father then surely you had the greatest claim!” argued Jenny, twisted her shoulders to shake Jamie’s hands off her, whilst not taking her hands from her hips.

“It wasna like that!” exclaimed Jamie. “It was no’ as if we were man and wife. By the time she had the bairn she was marrit to another man.”

“Dear God in Heaven, ye swived another man’s woman?” Jenny’s hand flew to her mouth as she made a dreadful assumption concerning the reason Jamie had not claimed paternity of the child.

“Gu leoir! What do ye think on me, mo phiuthar?” shouted Jamie, clenching his fists by his side. “That lass may ha’ been a virgin, but I’ll have ye ken she was no’ some innocent –”

“I canna believe I’m hearing this.” Jenny shook her head sharply.

“Sàmhach!” yelled Jamie, demanding to be heard out. “That she-devil blackmailed me tae sleep with her. She’d intercepted the letters ye’d written tae me and threatened yer safety. She were a spiteful wee minx and she’d ha’ hurt ye one way or another. That’s why I did it! I had nae choice.”

Jamie could barely look at his sister. He felt ashamed, having never wanted anyone to know of the circumstances that had resulted in the conception of his son, least of all his own sister.

“Dear God,” Jenny sat down abruptly, the wind taken from her sails. “But I still dinna understand why ye never told me ye were a daddy.”

“I never told a living soul,” muttered Jamie, indignantly.

“Ye told tha’ bloody English Lord,” muttered Ian from the doorway, softly closing the door behind him.

“Is the lad right, Jamie?” asked Jenny, looking hurt. “Did ye tell that man and no’ yer family?”

“He worked it out fer himself. I never told him,” growled Jamie, recalling a conversation in the stables at Helwater. John had never demanded to know how he came to be William’s father, he had only pointed out that he could see that the boy was Jamie’s son.

Narrowing his eyes, Jamie spun around and pointed an accusatory finger at Ian.

“And how did ye find out as much as ye did about my private business?”

“Dinna blame him!” protested Jenny. “Fergus told me that if it hadna been fer him, ye’d ha’ been arrested as well by now.”

“Ian Òg, just what did ye hear and when?” demanded Jamie, holding up a hand to quieten his sister’s defence of her son.

“I heard ye talking wi’ that bloody Englishman – I heard what ye said tae him about yer son.”

“What? Nae – ye canna have,” Jamie glared at Ian. “I asked ye to leave before Lord John told me the details.”

“I came back,” stated Ian defiantly. “It was pissin’ down wi’ rain. I snuck back in through the coal cellar door-”

“D’ye do tha’ often – sneak in tae the shop and eavesdrop on my private conversations?” asked Jamie.

“There was no need tae spy on ye tha’ night. Ye were yelling at the man. I saw ye, Uncle Jamie. I saw ye try tae kill him – yer hands around that wee man’s throat squeezing sae hard I thought his eyes were going tae pop out of his skull.” Ian wrapped his hands around a brandy bottle on the table, mimicking what he had seen, his own eyes bulging with morbid glee. He then shrugged, apparently unconcerned as to the lot of Lord John Grey. “Dinna fash though, the redcoats have him now. Sae ye’re free tae get yer son back.”

“A Dhia, I would never ha’ killed him,” exclaimed Jamie, looking at his hands. Flexing his fingers brought back memories of them tightening around John’s neck. It had not been the first time he had raised his hands in anger to someone he loved, and he had always been ashamed of himself afterwards. “I was angry that he’d let the bairn be kidnapped. But it wasna his fault- he wasna there at the time. I dinna want him harmed at all, never mind dead.”

Jamie looked from his nephew to his sister, his wide-eyed expression beseeching them to believe him.

“So, am I hearing this right?” asked Jenny. “Ye dinna want the English Lord out of yer way?”

“Dear God, no!” shouted Jamie, slapping his own forehead in exasperation. He collapsed into the chair opposite Jenny holding his face in his hands. If Ian had conveyed to the rest of the family how he had interpreted the conversation between him and John in the print shop, no wonder they seemed indifferent to John’s fate. “He’s a verra good man, Janet and he’s been a loving father tae William-”

“William?” repeated Jenny before collapsing into a chair by the fireside. “Ye even named him after our bhràthair. I canna-”

“That wasna my doing. A happy coincidence.” Jamie smiled sadly as it occurred to him that John also shared a name with his son. _Their son_.

“So, this Lord John?” asked Jenny, frowning. “Ye trust him and no’ yer own family?”

“He’s become like family tae me, Jenny,” admitted Jamie, surprised to hear himself declare that to his sister. He wiped his brow as he felt beads of sweat collecting. It had always seemed that she could stare into his soul and at that moment he really hoped she could not see just how close he had got to Lord John Grey.

“So, our plan tae help ye rescue the wee bairn on yer own is no’ one ye’d consider then?” asked Jenny, rhetorically.

“No, lass. I am no’ leaving Inverness wi’ out John Grey by my side,” stated Jamie, unequivocally – he shuddered as he considered any other eventuality. “And ye’d better no’ think o’ getting in my way.”

“Well then, we’d better help ye save his aristocratic arse then,” announced Jenny as if the matter were easily resolved. “Ian Òg – go fetch Fergus, ye’ve both work tae do.” Jenny took two of the bottles from the table and wrapped them in rolls of cloth before passing them to Ian. “That should loosen enough lips tae find out what’s become of this bloody Sassenach stepda tae yer cousin Willie.”

Momentarily startled by the change in attitude from his sister, Jamie was slow to recognise the ache in his skull as a question that he had not thought to ask earlier, but one that was bubbling up to the surface as Jenny started to brief Young Ian on the intelligence he needed to seek.

“Afore ye go, Ian Òg, just how did ye ken we’d be arriving today?” Jamie narrowed his eyes at Ian, wondering how he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere just as John had been arrested.

Tucking the two brandy bottles into the bag he has slung across his shoulder, Ian wrinkled his nose before answering.

“Weel, we kent ye’d need tae come through Inverness afore the Solstice. Then this morning, Fergus heard an Irishman talking tae the sentry on duty outside the castle. Said he had knowledge of a redcoat that had deserted his regiment -”

“That wee bastard – I shouldha broken his bloody neck last night.” Jamie fought the urge to break something closer to hand. After everything he and John had dealt with – from storms to horses running amok, cutthroats with bad intent and sinister stone circles, it had been a bloody Irish footman who had dealt the worst blow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite knowing that any rescue of John would stand a greater chance of success after nightfall, Jamie was itching to do something other than pace to and fro, refusing all attempts by Jenny to have him eat. After resorting to cleaning his pistol, he then fetched the whetstone from his saddlebag and sharpened both his sword and dirk, as well as John’s dagger that he discovered tucked into a pocket of the cloak. It seemed that while John had kept the Major talking, he had successfully secreted away all the most precious items he had been carrying upon his person into the cloak he had carefully handed over to Jamie.

Pouring a glass of whisky for each of them, Jenny had got him to go over – in depth – all the details regarding the kidnappers’ demands. It had been then that he had shown her the portrait of William and she had smiled as she brushed a fingertip over the curls in the picture, and then gazed in quiet awe at the actual curl of hair that Jamie had gently placed in the palm of her hand.

Once Jamie had shown Jenny the ransom note, it was agreed that he should collect the next set of instructions while Ian and Fergus were busy gathering the wherewithal to rescue Lord John. Before setting off to the tavern described by the kidnappers, Jamie left the ransom money in his sister’s care along with the carved snake he had made for William. He kept on his person the sapphires from John, he had carefully pushed a loop of his rosary through the sapphire ring and secured it safely around his neck, saying another quiet prayer for the safety of John and of William. Then, just before tucking it into his sark, another prayer for Claire and his other child.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie’s patience was further tested when Ian and Fergus eventually returned, because Jenny insisted on sitting around the table to work out a strategy.

“Fer God’s sake, woman, d’ye no’ remember the family history?” asked Jamie, scowling. “Frasers stormed that castle for Queen Mary – nae talking around the bloody kitchen table first. They may have closed the gates on the Queen, but they couldna stop the Frasers from getting in.”

“That was the whole clan, Jamie, no’ just one angry man and couple of lads!” retorted Jenny. “And fer Christ’s sake, eat some of that fish.”

“Are we no’ going to blast our way through the walls, mam?” asked Ian, looking more than slightly disappointed.

“Nae, lad, ye’re too late – did ye nae notice that the walls were blown tae pieces by Charles Stuart? I dare say yer uncle had a hand in that,” pointed out Jenny, arching an eyebrow at her brother.

Jamie responded with a muffled grunt, reluctantly picking at the smoked fish and bread that Jenny had been trying to force him to eat all day. As the afternoon had worn on, his stomach had started to grumble loudly and he had to agree with her assessment that it would be a shame to get shot having been betrayed by his own howling wame.

“What did ye find out, Fergus?” Jenny asked the young Frenchman, who was tearing pieces of bread off the loaf and eating them a mouthful at a time.

“They are keeping him locked up until morning. Then he will be taken to the new fort.”

“Aye, that would make sense,” agreed Jenny, nodding her head. “He should still be in one piece as long as the redcoats dinna decide tae make an example of him beforehand. Like they did that last poor lad.”

“What do ye mean by that?” asked Jamie, a morsel of oily fish halfway to his mouth.

“A week or so ago, we came tae town fer supplies. It was one o’ their own, a wee man, barely more than a lad – they found him in a croft, between here and Aviemore. He’d left his ranks and ran off tae be wi’ a lass he’d met in town. They were going tae run off together, but one of his fellow soldiers informed on him. They dragged him back here and gave him fifty lashes for deserting his post.”

Jamie let the piece of fish slip from this fingers back onto the plate.

_Dear God, no – please no. Not John._

Despite the oppressive heat of the day, that had him sweating in his long cloak, Jamie felt his blood freeze at the thought of what would become of John if he failed to rescue him.

“Uncle Jamie? Are ye alright?” asked Ian, leaning in to get a closer look at his uncle’s face. “Ye’ve gone as pale as a fish’s belly.”

“We’re going tae get into the castle tonight when it’s dark and rescue Lord John,” stated Jamie, while scowling at his nephew.

“Why does this English Lord mean sae much tae ye, Jamie?” asked Jenny, suspiciously.

“I told ye, he’s duine math,” declared Jamie, not flinching under the scrutiny directed at him. “A better man than I’ll ever be. He’s given up sae much already – probably his military career and possibly his family fer the sake of rescuing that wee lad. And he’s put himself in danger in ways that I dinna want to think about.” Despite his words, images came to mind: rings of bruises about John’s arms and bloodstained hands. He had failed John then and he had no intention of failing him again. “I am no’ going tae leave Inverness without him.”

The expression on Jamie’s face brooked no argument. His eyes blazed with a ferocity that Jenny had rarely seen before. That fierceness she had first witnessed when he was just a young lad willing to take on that bastard of an English captain who threatened to rape her. Then again when he had defended his first wife – that Sassenach lass. She did not know what it was about this English Lord, but for some reason he owned a piece of her brother’s heart and that was plain to see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After they had secured the small rowing boat to the branches of a willow overhanging the riverside, Ian wrapped a large coil of rope around his shoulder and across his chest. At a nod from Jamie, he set off, uphill. He was small enough and quiet enough to make his way up the cliff face, using the debris from the explosions twenty years in the past as cover for his progress. There were scrawny saplings and shrubs growing in the dirt that had been thrown up from the terraces. He used the light of the moon to help him find his way, glad to have rubbed mud over his face so he would not show up should any soldier be looking down from the battlements.

However, as the locals said, there was not much interest in scaling the walls to break in as everyone knew there was nothing left in the castle. What the Jacobites had not taken with them, the townsfolk at the time had quickly stripped out. It was mostly used as a staging post for those overseeing the building of the new fort.

When he reached the remnants of the outer battlements Ian made the call of an owl to signal to Jamie below. From there he tied one end of the rope around a sturdy tree and released the other end to cascade down the slope. A pair of wood pigeons flapped their wings noisily as their roost was disturbed, causing Ian to press himself to the ground quickly, just in case the ruckus attracted unwelcome attention.

Cursing under his breath, Jamie waited until he was sure it was safe to clamber up the cliffside. Kicking the toe of his boot into the soft soil, Jamie levered himself up and over the steep overhanging ridge and then worked his way up, biting his lip as his damaged left hand seized up on the rope, cramping painfully. He focused on John and what he may have been subjected to in the hours they had been apart, realising with a start that this was the longest they had been separated since John had arrived in Edinburgh.

As he lifted one hand over the other, steadily making his way towards the ruined castle, Jamie went over the details revealed by his nephew and Fergus regarding John’s incarceration. The off-duty infantrymen in the taverns were only too happy to share the gossip running rife through the normally quiet outpost, especially in exchange for a measure of brandy poured into their canteens.

Apparently, Sergeant Jackson had volunteered to secure the latest prisoner himself, which had drawn attention as he usually delegated such duties. Consequently, John had not been housed in the officers’ quarters under lock and key as they had first assumed would be the case. Jackson had pressed for other charges to be brought against John, beyond a disputed desertion of duties – including one of interfering with the arrest of a possible Jacobite rebel. Therefore, the bastard had argued that John also be charged with treason, an offence that brought with it far more extreme punishments. Hence Jamie’s desperation to set off for the castle as soon as the sun had slid beyond the horizon.

Hauling himself up over the ridges left from what had once been the terraces built by the English, Jamie felt the knots strain in the rope and grasped at a gnarled tree trunk to keep from falling back the way he had come. He felt the rope pull tight again, as Ian grabbed hold of his arm to steady him - his wiry frame belied the boy’s strength which had been honed working the land at Lallybroch.

Ian was hunkered down in the lee of the hill, sensibly keeping his face towards the river, so all he presented from above was the top of his head, which was covered by a dark woollen hat, much the same as Jamie was wearing himself. Jamie’s lips twitched in a small smile, as he recalled the time he had hidden with the lad as a babe in his arms, concealing their presence from the English army. There was a certain irony in that they were about to liberate an Englishman who had once been the governor of a prison.

“Where next?” whispered Ian.

They both looked up quickly to the roof of the ruined western barracks and then to the tower, gutted after the blasts from the Jacobites had rendered the old fort defenceless. The remains of the tower stood stark against the sky, like a snaggle-tooth in a mouth no longer capable of biting.

“We’ll need tae head directly fer the tower,” replied Jamie. “But wait until that wee man heads back the way he came.”

Jamie reached out a hand to hold Ian in place, pointing in the direction of the barracks. Along the rooftop, the moonlight struck the tip of a bayonet, indicating the exact position of the solitary sentry left to patrol the side of the castle that looked across the river.

Watching the movement of the sharp point of light as it grew closer and then eventually started to move away to their left, Jamie nudged Ian and they crawled over the last ridge of debris and then, keeping close to the ground, moved stealthily from one piece of cover to the next, slowly and carefully, as if stalking a deer. Their footfalls were almost silent, and the cloaks about their shoulders would provide cover in an instant if they had to suddenly come to a halt in the open.

As they drew closer to the tower, the dark shadow it cast afforded them even better cover and they moved more swiftly until they were standing either side of the broken doorway that had once provided a barrier to entry.

“Are ye sure there’s only the one guard on here at night?” whispered Jamie, not wanting to be taken by surprise by an entire contingent of redcoats swarming out of the tower like ants from a nest.

“Aye – there’s meant tae be two o’ them, but they take it in turns tae sleep in the guard house down below,” replied Ian, having garnered that fact from an arrogant soldier when he had asked him if he was scared guarding dangerous prisoners late at night. “They dinna think the few men they’re keeping here are any threat tae them.”

Jamie snorted to himself. He swore to himself that if John was harmed in any way, he would give them cause to be terrified of what the night might bring.

Looking into the bowels of the tower, the opening to the spiral staircase seemed to be pitch black at first, but as their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, the lack of roof and of walls to one side of the tower, allowed in sufficient moonlight to illuminate the pale stone underfoot.

As they made their way down the stairs each slab of grey stone cut into the next so sharply it proved difficult for Jamie to work his way down, the bulk of his body filling the space. He hoped that they were not caught unawares on their way back out.

Jamie led the way, the sword in his right hand ready to take on anyone coming up the stairs towards them. As they reached the bottom, the area opened out with a barrel-vaulted ceiling above their heads, lit by a few scant torches slotted into wall sconces. The damage inflicted to the structures above ground had allowed rainwater to infiltrate the tower, and there were patches of slimy algae on the walls and underfoot. The sounds of dripping echoed from deep underground, accompanying the smell of decay and death infiltrating the cold air they inhaled, making them both shudder. The place had the feel of a crypt under an old church and not a prison. Or a dungeon, thought Jamie, flexing his fingers around the hilt of his broadsword.

Not seeing or hearing any sign of the guard that was meant to be on duty, Jamie indicated for Ian to take one of the torches to light their way. They headed for a darkened corridor that led off in the direction of what would have been the under croft of the old castle. Jamie decided to start by searching the furthest cells and then work back towards the way out, so they would encounter any hostility face on. The room at the end was not locked, but Jamie still opened it, not wanting to leave any stone unturned. It was just a storeroom, there was a heap of sacks to one side and nothing else. The next door was bolted from the outside, suggesting that there was an inhabitant inside. Working free the bolt gradually, wincing as it began to squeal in resistance, Jamie finally moved it across enough to be able to open the door. Again, it appeared to contain nothing more than some sacks and broken crates. Taking the torch from Ian, Jamie moved it from side to side and then he spied a shape amongst the sacks that looked very familiar to him.

“John?” he whispered but got no response. The man was curled on one side, facing away from them, wearing nothing but shirt and breeches from what he could see from the doorway. Jamie froze in the doorway.

Tutting to himself, Ian scuttled forward, holding the torch in front of him. He stooped down next to the body on the stone floor. He cautiously reached out to move the long hair away from the man’s face and then withdrew his hand quickly.

“Mary, Michael and Bride,” mumbled Ian, hastily making the sign of the cross. “ _Fois shìorruidh thoir dha._ ”

“What is it?” hissed Jamie urgently. “Is it John?”

“Aye – but, Uncle Jamie, he’s dead.” Ian’s eyes were so wide the whites gleamed in the light of the torch. “He’s as cold as ice.”

“No!” hissed Jamie, no longer caring if anyone heard him. “He canna be.”

“I’m telling ye, he is. _Fois shìorruidh thoir dha_ ,” repeated Ian, wishing the corpse eternal rest.

Jamie dropped to his knees alongside the body and raised one of the manacled hands to his lips, a hand that was not stiff with rigor mortis, but that flopped forward loosely.

“He’s no dead, ye wee fool,” hissed Jamie, too relieved that John was alive to chastise his nephew for nearly scaring him to death. “He’s just verra cold and unconscious.”

“Come on John, I need ye to wake up.” Jamie ruffled John’s hair, as if were any one of the many mornings they had woken up alongside each other. “ _Dùisg. Mas e do thoil e._ Ye wee fool, ye shouldha kept that cloak, ye’re freezing tae death here.”

Jamie began to rub John’s arms, trying to warm him up, hoping the friction would wake him up. Finally, he felt muscles twitching as John began to stir. Abruptly, John took in a deep breath, pulled his knees to his chest and kicked out, shoving Jamie onto his back. Just before the boots made contact with his ribcage, Jamie had been grateful that he was not barefoot.

“Nae, John, _sguir dheth_!” Jamie quickly rolled John onto his side, facing away from him. Not giving him a chance to struggle any further, he wrapped his arms around John’s chest from behind. “Stop that!”

“What?” muttered John, calming down as soon as he realised who was holding him. “Jamie? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’ve come here to rescue ye!” said Jamie, his lips brushing John’s ear as he whispered urgently. “Are ye alright, mo charaid? Did they hurt ye?”

“No. No. No – no, this is all wrong.” John shook his head vehemently, striving to sit up, which was made more difficult with his hands held together by manacles and his arms immobilised by a large Scotsman. Twisting around to look Jamie in the face, he was horrified. “You are meant to be on your way to that bloody stone circle to rescue our – your son.”

“No’ without ye, I’m not,” stated Jamie. “I told ye – I promised ye- that I wouldna leave ye behind.”

“You also gave your word that William’s welfare would come first!” spat John in response.

“What are ye saying?” demanded Jamie, staring at John.

“I am saying get the hell out of here while you still can,” hissed John through gritted teeth. Jamie could see the muscles in his jaw bunching tightly, as if John was fighting to keep his resolve. “I have said my farewells once, do not make me do that again.”

“Ye’re talking nonsense, man.” Jamie ran a hand through John’s hair, that was loose upon his shoulders, feeling surreptitiously for any lumps or cuts indicative of a blow to the head. “I dinna ken what they’ve done tae ye, but I am no’ leaving here without ye, even if I have tae throw ye over my shoulder!”

“Dear God, Jamie,” John’s voice was on the verge of breaking. “I cannot. If I come with you, we shall both be hunted down.”

Taking advantage of Jamie’s sharp intake of breath, John pushed away and scrambled to his feet awkwardly. He started to pace the small cell, rubbing his face with his hands. He came to a halt near the pile of sacks he had been sleeping on. Unable to look Jamie in the eye he fixed his focus on the open door.

“Go!” he ordered. “Go now and lock the door before you leave. They need never know you were here.”

“No!” Jamie moved to stand in front of the doorway, his arms folded across his chest defiantly, daring John to try to move him. “Ye dinna get to tell me what tae do.”

“It’s over, Jamie. It’s time for us to part – permanently.” Swallowing hard, John tilted his chin up and addressed Jamie directly. “Go and rescue your son. Where you take him is your affair, but I would suggest avoiding both Lallybroch and -”

Growling low in his throat, Jamie stormed across the floor of the cell, grabbed hold of John’s arms and shook him. Hard. So hard that the chain between his wrists rattled between them.

“Listen tae me, man. I’m no’ leaving this damned place without ye and ye’re no’ saying goodbye tae me – or tae William. Our son!” Jamie shouted in John’s face, oblivious to the shushing from Ian who had taken up a position in the corridor outside the cell. “Damn it, John, after all we’ve been through, all ye’ve suffered, ye’re ready to give up now? I dinna understand ye, man.”

“It will give you the best chance,” stated John simply, a tear gathering in the corner of his eye. “Especially now that bastard Jackson has added treason to my list of offences to the crown.”

“Ye’re wrong and I’ll no’ waste my breath trying to convince ye of that.” Jamie could see that John was shivering, however much he tried to hide the fact. “And I am no’ leaving ye here tae freeze tae death.”

“So, what do you suggest? I just disappear overnight?” asked John, pressing his hands against Jamie’s chest.

“Why not?” Jamie was perplexed, he could not understand why John seemed to have given up and resigned himself to his fate.

John sighed patiently, as if dealing with a young child that kept asking ‘why’ interminably.

“Because, as a treasonous deserter there will no doubt be a price on my head-”

“John-” warned Jamie, understanding, yet not accepting John’s train of thought.

“No! You cannot deny that. I shall not be a millstone about your neck,” John reached up a hand to cup Jamie’s jaw. “You know for yourself that there will be no safe place to hide. I take it that you have the rest of the instructions now, as well as the sapphires and gold. You know your way to the stone circle. I beseech you to ride with the wind. If you can get William-”

“I’ll no’ listen tae this foolishness!” Jamie clasped hold of John’s hand in his, noting how cold he was and not wanting to lose contact with him.

“I… I shall miss you both,” whispered John. “But I know that you are more than capable of taking on those demons who have taken William single-handed. Maybe your accomplice outside the door will help you?”

“He’s nae but a lad himself,” Jamie heard the grunt outside the door, yet chose to ignore it. Ian was a brave lad, but not a soldier like John. He leaned in close to John and spoke softly in his ear: “Ye came tae me fer help and we started this quest together. We’ve grown closer each day and I’ll no’ go any further without ye by side, John Grey.”

“My dear Jamie, I told you I would give my life for that boy and I still would,” replied John, his voice hoarse with emotion. “And what is more, I would sell my soul to know that you and he could have a future together.”

Jamie crushed John to his chest in a tight embrace. Then grasping John’s head in his hands, he kissed him, full on the mouth. He ignored the shocked gasp from Ian who had spun around to see what was keeping the two men.

“A Dhia, ye’re a noble fucking idiot, John.” Jamie pressed his forehead against John’s. “A self-sacrificing idiot. But I love ye, mo leannan and I’ll no’ let ye make that sacrifice.”

“But-” started John, unable to continue because Jamie had sealed their lips together once more and was taking his breath away, quite literally.

“Ifrinn! Someone’s coming!” hissed Ian as he swept into the tiny cell, crowding it with the torch he was holding aloft. He then let the torch tip downwards as he caught sight of his uncle kissing the Englishman again, this time open-mouthed. “ _Sguir dheth!_ In the name of all that’s holy, stop that now!”

“Hush now and do as I say,” instructed Jamie, glaring at the boy as he pointed a finger at him. “Quickly pull yer hat down over yer hair and eyes, then wrap yer cloak around yer head. Aye, that’s it and stand as tall and broad as ye can. Dinna say a bloody word, just go along with whatever I say. Aye?”

“Jamie?” asked John, puzzled. “What are you up to? Please, I beg of you, do nothing reckless on my behalf –”

“I have a plan,” whispered Jamie as he fashioned a hood from his own cloak and covered his own hair. “All ye need tae do is no’ to call out my name when ye’re cursing me.”

Before John had the chance to ask why he would be cursing his friend, he found out as Jamie ducked down and grabbed hold of him around the waist and slung him over a broad shoulder. John’s manacled hands dangled free over Jamie’s back, just at the right height for him to angrily pound his fists into Jamie’s buttocks.

“Put me down, damn you!”

“Aye, that’s good – shout and protest all ye like. The louder the better.” Jamie smacked John’s arse with his free hand in return for the punishment his own backside was taking.

“What the hell are you thinking of?” demanded John, even more confused than he had been before.

“It’s best ye dinna ken, yer Lordship,” muttered Jamie. “But yer righteous indignation will do just fine. Keep it up!”

Jamie strode out of the cell, his cloak pulled over his face, his knitted hat pulled down to cover his hair. He could hear footsteps getting closer to them, running and then pausing as if to check to see where the noise was coming from.

Winking at Ian and indicating that he should take the rear, Jamie walked brazenly towards the stairwell, sweeping the blade of his sword from side to side, making sure that it glinted in the light from the torches in the wall sconces.

It was not surprising that he startled the guard as he warily ventured around the corner, brandishing his own sword menacingly. The man had evidently become aware of the fact that the sounds coming towards him were of free men and not prisoners.

“Stop where you are!” Puffing up his chest, the person standing in their way shouted out his command with conviction.

Jamie was impressed that the relatively small man was prepared to face him off. He loomed over the redcoat and was very aware of how intimidating he could appear.

“If I were ye, I’d get out of my way, afore I walk right through ye,” advised Jamie, prodding the guard in the chest with the tip of his blade. “We’re taking Lord-fucking-Grey tae be served justice fer crimes he committed as governor of Ardsmuir prison. Dinna bother to come looking fer him, there’ll be nothing left tae find.”

The guard trembled as he took in the sight of the enormous Scotsman towering over him, a massive broadsword in one hand and a squirming English officer draped over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. He could see that Grey was struggling, apparently terrified of what was to become of him at the hands of the Highlander.

“I shouldn’t let you do that.” The man squinted against the light as the silent partner of the huge Scotsman waved a torch in his face, almost blinding him. “He’s due to be court martialled and sentenced for 'is crimes against the King.”

“Aye? Well, I’ll save ye all the trouble.” Jamie held on tightly to John’s legs, squeezing them tightly to his side, just in case he managed to succeed in his efforts to wriggle free. “Ye’ll thank me fer taking him off yer hands and disposing of him.”

“I’ll be flogged for letting a prisoner escape-” began the guard, still holding his own ground, but not doing anything to raise the alarm or demand Grey’s release. “There will be hell to pay if they find out I let 'im get away-”

“Does it look like he’s keen on coming along wi’ us?” Jamie slapped the flat part of his blade firmly across the back of John’s thighs causing him to yell out in shock.

“Let me go you fucking Jacobite bastard!” swore John, as he struggled as if to get free, having understood Jamie’s risky ploy. He grabbed hold of Jamie’s buttocks and pulled himself further over the man’s bulky frame, until his lips were within inches of the man’s rear end. Then shifting aside a few layers of clothing he held his prize in place as he sunk his teeth into Jamie’s arse.

“Stop that! Ye son of a devil!” yelled Jamie, spinning around as if trying to smash John Grey’s head against the stone walls. “A mhic an diabhoil!”

As he did so, the guard took a step back to avoid being hit in the face by either broadsword or Englishman, both being wildly flung around by an apparently crazy Scotsman.

Meanwhile, under cover of the distraction, Ian had slipped behind the redcoat, a wooden chair leg in his free hand. He had been taught well and brought the man down with one, well-aimed blow to the back of the skull.

“Dinna move from there,” instructed Jamie as he lowered John to his feet, scowling at him as he rubbed his sore arse.

Jamie stooped down to search the unconscious guard for keys. Finding what he sought, he sprung to his feet and took hold of the manacles around John’s wrists, unlocking them on the third attempt.

“Ye ken what I was saying a day or so ago, about ye needing tae eat more?” Jamie directed the whispered question at John as he unfastened the cruel metal bracelets. He grinned at John’s astonished face before adding: “I was wrong – ye weigh more than enough as ye are.”

Shaking his head that was dizzy from being spun around, John scowled in return.

“So that was your plan?” John rubbed his wrists. He cast an eye in Ian’s direction, as the young man was dragging the guard by his feet towards the cell that he had been kept in.

“Aye. And it was a damn sight better than the one ye had – tae let yerself be put on trial, tae be locked up or worse,” hissed Jamie. “Not tae mention taking yer leave of me and our son.”

“That would have been my choice and mine alone,” responded John, his voice grim.

“Like hell it is – or was!” spat Jamie, taking the cloak from his shoulders to drape around John’s. “Ye’re no’ on yer own here, John. Ye’ve got friends and people who love ye and willna let ye throw yerself in harm’s way. No’ anymore.”

To stave off any further protest, Jamie wrapped an arm around John’s waist and pulled him close, kissing him fiercely.

“A Dhia!” exclaimed Ian, before muttering. “How am I going to tell mam ye’ve become a sodomite?”

“Ye’re no’ going to tell yer mother any more bloody tales.” Jamie kept his grip on John as he turned and pointed his sword in Ian’s face. “No’ if ye dinna want me tae tell her of the company ye keep at night!”

“Alright, ye drive a fair bargain.”

“Here, take this – ye may have need of this yet.” Jamie picked up the sword that the guard had dropped and handed it to John.

“What now?” asked John in resignation as he took hold of the sabre. He looked around warily, wondering if any of their whispered conversation could be overheard by any of the other inmates.

“A strategic retreat. Our business in Inverness is over. ”

“Where to?” asked John, frowning, even though he knew there would be no answer forthcoming while they were standing in the midst of what had become enemy territory.

“Time for ye to face justice!” yelled out Jamie, before mouthing the word ‘scream’ to John.

Rolling his eyes, John let loose a blood curdling scream as if he was being tortured by the men who had come to take him from the castle.

Grinning madly, Jamie grabbed hold of John’s hand and dragged him in the direction of the stairs that would lead them to freedom.

Ian shook his head as he followed in the wake of Jamie and John who were brandishing swords as they climbed the stone stairs. Despite being startled to witness just how close Jamie was to John Grey, he had overheard enough to let him know that the English Lord was just as noble as his uncle had said he was.

Young Ian smiled to himself – theirs was a secret he would not be sharing with his mother. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	16. Chapter 16

The back of a wagon was not the most comfortable of places to travel. Wedged between unyielding wooden barrels, lying curled on their sides, squashed up against one another made the experience even more uncomfortable. Jamie’s arm was tightly wrapped around John’s waist to keep him from either falling or leaping from the back of the wagon; Jamie was still not convinced that the man he had gone to a lot of trouble to rescue would not take it into his head to run straight back and demand to be taken back into custody. Hiding them from view, in case a random patrol was encountered on their way south, lay Jamie’s heavy woollen cloak and on top of that old rugs that were usually tied around the barrels to keep them from knocking against one another. Even if Ian had turned around to check on them, he would not have seen how close they lay, or heard what Jamie was whispering into John’s ear.

“Do ye recall what I told ye back in Stirling? I promised that if ye were arrested I’d come tae rescue ye.”

Trying awfully hard not to react to the feel of Jamie’s breath upon his neck, John rolled his eyes in response. He was glad that it was dark and that the jostling of the wagon made it impossible to turn around to look as he could imagine only too well the smug expression on Jamie’s face.

“Yes, well I also happen to recall suggesting that you might storm a castle on my behalf,” responded John. “Although I do not believe you were responsible for the derelict state of its walls-”

“Maybe no’ this time, but-”

Before Jamie could explain how he may have had a part to play in the destruction of the old fort of Inverness, Ian interrupted him.

“Uncle Jamie?”

“Aye Ian Òg, what is it? Is there trouble?”

“Och no, the roads are empty. I was just wondering what I should call yer Sassenach friend. Is it Lord John or Uncle John?” Ian asked, feigning innocent enquiry. But there was a tone to his voice that he would not usually be tempted to use on Jamie Fraser.

“What are ye on about?” asked Jamie, frowning to himself.

“Weel, ye did say he’s my cousin’s papa – and so that makes him my uncle does it no’?”

“Weel, I can see yer logic there, Ian Òg. What d’ye think, John?” asked Jamie, ruffling John’s hair just to get a reaction. “Can ye believe yer ears? A Scotsman asking tae address ye as uncle. That’s a braw compliment fer an Englishman, never mind a redcoat.”

“I didna say I would-” started Ian, annoyed that his jest had backfired on him. “I’ll have tae see what mam has tae say.”

“Hear that?” Jamie whispered conspiratorially. “There’s hope fer ye tae be accepted by my kin yet.”

“Dear God – do I really need to remind you our previous conversation?” muttered John, partly under his breath. “The one where we agreed that should our respective families ever meet, there would be bloodshed?”

Jamie laughed out loud. Even muffled by the layers of sacking, his guffaws rang out into the night air.

“Hush, Uncle! At least yer Sassenach knows when tae keep his mouth shut!”

As Ian looked over his shoulder, ready to reprimand Jamie, he lost control of the horses just long enough for them to veer to the left. This pulled the wagon to the side causing one of its wheels to drop into a deep rut. The effect of this was to bounce the men upwards and off the boards briefly. As John lurched towards the edge Jamie had to grab hold of him tightly and roll him over until they were face to face.

“Nae escaping me now, man!” Jamie chuckled as John wriggled around to get more comfortable.

“Sorry about that, Uncle Jamie and … Uncle John,” called out Ian, a distinct smirk in his voice. “I didna see the rut in time to warn ye. Are ye both still there?”

“Aye, lad. Now keep yer eyes on the road ahead will ye? It wouldna do if I were to roll over and squash yer newfound uncle now would it?”

Unable to see much, even with some moonlight filtering through the trees, John relied on touch to slide a hand under the cloak in order to pinch Jamie’s arm.

“Ouch – what was that fer?”

“Uncle John?” Then as the words left his lips, John sighed loudly. “Dear God, how many nephews and nieces do we have between us?”

“And the same son – I wonder how he’ll get on wi’ my side of the family?” pondered Jamie wistfully. It had never been a concern in the past as it had never been more than a hypothetical situation. But with Ian Òg, Fergus and Jenny all converging at the same place, there was a very real chance that William would meet his true father’s kin. “He is after all, a Fraser, whether he is aware of it or no’.”

John placed a calming hand on the arm that was still clutching him close.

“Although William may not yet be aware of the true nature of his heritage, anyone that knows you and meets him will have no doubt of the identity of his sire. He has taken after his father in many respects. And as such he has managed to becharm the Dunsany’s and Greys alike,” John paused, casting his mind back to the confidence that Isobel had once shared with him, that her sister Geneva had fallen in love with Jamie. Although he would never be able to condone the young woman’s coercion of Jamie into her bed, he could appreciate how the intimate touch of the man could ignite a passion impossible to quell. “I suspect the Fraser clan will be no more resistant to his charms than anyone else he has encountered. Even my brother has a weakness when it comes to William. Hal presented him with two wooden swords as a Yuletide gift.”

Jamie grinned broadly and tightened his grip on John. It lightened his heart to know that William was so well loved. Then a thought occurred to him.

“I canna imagine that – yer brother having a soft side at all.” Jamie huffed, having spent enough time in the Duke’s company to doubt his ability to be either kind or thoughtful. However, there was one member of the Grey family who had always impressed him, even if only half the stories that John had told him of her exploits were true. “Has yer mother met young William yet?”

John went silent for a while and then cleared his throat before replying.

“Yes. At Christmastide last year – in London. Isobel and I took William with us when paying our respects at Jermyn Street.”

“What was her opinion of the lad?” asked Jamie, eager to know the estimable Benedicta’s thoughts on his son.

“I am not sure if I should tell you this … but…” John hesitated, then chuckled to himself.

“Spit it out, man. Yer mother never has much trouble speaking her mind from what ye’ve said.”

“No – she never does. However, I shall need to provide the context for her remarks,” explained John, as he recalled the scene vividly. “It had been a mild morning and William was in need of both fresh air and exercise. Even walking through the park on the way to mother’s house was not enough to wear him out. So, whilst Isobel and I took tea with mother, my valet offered to take William into the rear garden, to play with the swords gifted to him by Hal. Before long, he came dashing into the parlour, dishevelled. William that is, not Tom. His hair was curling from the damp air and his face was flushed from the exertions. My blessed mother took one look at him and declared to all and sundry – ‘darling John, that dear child looks the spitting image of Hal's description of your pet Scottish prisoner’. Isobel went quite pink and nearly choked on a petit four.”

John was concerned that Jamie would take offence and he stiffened in Jamie’s arms as he was dragged closer to the Scotsman’s heaving chest.

“Dinna fash. If it makes ye any less mortified, I’ll introduce ye as my wee pet English prisoner, aye?” The laughter was threatening to burst forth as Jamie teased John. “Even if they didna keep ye locked up fer more than a day.”

Shaking his head in frustration, John chose not to reply. He was feeling queasy from the motion of the wagon as it swayed and pitched constantly and still irrationally put out by the fact that Jamie had launched an outrageous rescue on his behalf. He had fully expected to be court-martialled and returned to London, leaving Jamie to liberate his son. He had not expected the man to come after him first. It no longer seemed real, their flight from the castle, down a ridiculously steep slope and then taken by boat, a tiny vessel that stank of fish, from the bottom of the cliff to a small dock. He had not been given the chance to see where they were headed before being bundled into the back of the wagon, with Jamie swiftly dragging all manner of clothing, sacking and rugs on top of them to hide them from view. Since that point he had no idea which direction they were heading in. He had asked Jamie their destination repeatedly, only to be told that he would find out soon enough.

“Where are we going?” he asked once more, not convinced that he would receive a useful answer. “Will you tell me now?”

“We’re going back tae Moy Hall. Lady Anne said we were tae return should we need a safe bolthole. And seeing as ye’re a wanted man, it seemed wise to get ye out of Inverness before morning. And I’ll no’ risk hiding away in an auld barn or ruin – there’s too much at stake now.”

“I suppose there is a logic to that decision. Damn.” John was frustrated at the potential set back. “So, where is my horse? And that beast of yours? Or are we to make our way to the rendezvous in the back of a brewery wagon, or maybe even inside a couple of barrels?”

“The steeds are in good hands. My sister and-”

“Your sister?” exclaimed John, bringing up his hands to place them flat onto Jamie’s chest, pushing away from him. “Dear God, first your nephew, then your sister!”

“Aye, stop squirming, ye wee bugger!” shouted out Jamie. “Ye’ll have both of us rolling over the side and into the ditch!”

“Hush, the pair of ye! Ye’re worse than my parents. Will ye stop quarrelling like an auld marrit couple?” hissed Ian urgently warning them to keep their noise down. “There’s someone ahead of us in the road.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fortunately, it was not a patrol from the garrison, but just a couple of men sent out from Moy Hall, positioned near the road ready to escort them directly to the stable block via a paddock to muffle the sound of the horses’ hooves on the gravel drive. When they could see the lights of the hall, the groom took charge of the horses, whilst the footman ran ahead to inform the occupants of their imminent arrival.

By the time the horses had been taken from their harnesses and led to a stall for the night, they could hear women’s voices coming from the direction of the kitchens. Both voices well known to Jamie – his good friend, Lady Anne and his sister. As they approached, Jamie was sure he could smell brandy in the air around them. He dared not think what they could have been discussing all evening, although the narrow-eyed glare from Jenny gave him the distinct impression that he was one of the subjects and that John was probably the other.

“Captain Fraser. Lord Grey,” Anne greeted the two men stiffly. “Although my doors are always open tae ye both, I wish it were under better circumstances. And not so late at night.”

“Well, I could hardly break into the castle in broad daylight could I?” asked Jamie with a grin that had Anne smile back at him, acknowledging the facts.

“True enough,” Anne nodded her head in John’s direction. “I am pleased to see ye safe, Lord John. From what Janet told me, that was by no means a certainty.”

“Aye – and he wouldna have been in such a situation if it hadn’t been fer that wee bastard, Bonnet. Where is he then?” demanded Jamie, his eyes scanning the stable yard as if his prey were hiding in the shadows. “That bloody Irish footman. Where is he hiding?”

“Dinna fash, he’s locked in the wine cellar at Mistress Fraser-Murray’s request on yer behalf. She explained why. Did ye want to speak with him?”

“I dinna think that’s wise. If I see that _neach-brathaidh_ tonight I’ll wring his scrawny wee neck,” muttered Jamie. “As long as he gets nowhere near me nor John, or gets to ken that we were here, ye can do with him as ye please. If I were ye, I’d sell him tae a crew of fucking pirates and be done with it.”

“Brother – mind what ye’re saying!” hissed Jenny, even though she was fully aware of the reason for his animosity and desire for vengeance.

“Hush there, Jenny, lass. I have no more time for traitors and spies than yer brother.” Lady Anne advised Jenny before speaking directly to Jamie. “Aye, some valuable pieces of family silver were found in the press the man uses to store his livery. He tried to protest his innocence, but couldna explain why he had a bag full of coin upon his person on his return from a trip into town.”

“I said I didna like the look o’ the man, Anne. Ye’re well rid o’ him.”

“That as may be, Fraser, but if ye wish for your presence here to remain a secret I would strongly suggest that you and Lord John go straight to your rooms. Do not dither or feel ye have to exchange pleasantries. As soon as we had word that ye were close by, your sister and young Fergus asked fer food tae be set out in the sitting room ye used before. We shall reconvene there at daybreak. I trust you will both be out of your _beds_ by then.”

As Anne tilted her head towards them, turning her back to Jenny, her lips quirked into a smile and she favoured them both with a subtle wink. Jamie felt his sister’s eyes land on his face, so returned the smile graciously and ducked his head into a polite bow. He chose to ignore the way Anne had emphasised the word ‘ _beds’_ , no doubt the housemaid had informed her that the two of them had shared a bed the previous night.

“Aye – I dinna think we’ll get much sleep tonight. There’s much tae be discussed and we shall have tae set off as early as we can. We shall both be up and dressed by daybreak, never fear, Lady Anne.”

“Good. Although you’d be well advised to lock your door overnight. The locks are not sturdy, but should the garrison send a patrol to search for a runaway prisoner, any noise about the house will give ye both time to depart through the tower and onto the roof. There’s a ladder that leads directly from the roof and into the stables – ye ken where I said ye’d find it.”

Jamie met Anne’s eyes and understood exactly what she was telling him. He smiled in gratitude for her discretion and forethought.

“Thank ye, we shall be sure tae keep the doors bolted and secured. But what of my kin?”

“There’s no need to fret on their account. They'll be sleeping in the other wing. Just in case there is trouble, there will be nothing to connect their presence here to yours.”

“Janet?” prompted Jamie, taking another look in his sister’s direction, trying to determine her thoughts from the tilt of her head and the look in her eyes.

“It’s alright, a bhràthair. Lady Anne and I have had time to talk at length this evening awaiting yer arrival. She has also been kind enough to tell me everything I need to ken about yer friend, who ye have yet to introduce tae me.”

Flustered, Jamie turned to John, who shrugged slightly.

“My sister, Janet Fraser Murray – this is John Grey. Trusted friend and guardian to my son, William.”

John stepped forward, dusted down his sleeves and wiped his hands on the front of his breeches. He bowed before both Anne and Jenny with equal courtesy and politeness, in a manner that was not overlooked by Jenny. She snorted softly under her breath when John pressed a kiss to her weather worn hand as solicitously as he then kissed the delicate white hand of her ladyship. As John ducked down in front of her for the second time, before stepping away, she glanced across his broad back and met her brother’s eyes, and with the slightest of nods, she granted her approval.

 _Ye are such a wee charmer, John Grey_ , thought Jamie with a wistful smile. It was no wonder he could not help himself from being so drawn to the man, despite his previous feelings of abhorrence. He was no longer appalled at John’s proclivities but by his own actions towards the brave and gentle soul who was risking everything he had and all that he was for the sake of their son.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On their way up the backstairs to their rooms, John smiled to himself – the fact that Jamie had introduced him to his sister simply as John Grey, devoid of titles or rank gave him cause to be inexplicably pleased. It signified that Jamie recognised him for the man he was and not what he represented as soldier or nobleman, and what made that even better was the fact that he referred to him as his trusted friend. It had taken decades to acquire that status with Jamie Fraser and as such was worth a great deal.

As they entered the rooms they had not long departed from, they could see from the sitting room that the bed they had slept in was made up afresh and that the handle of the warming pan was poking out from under the coverlet. The second bedroom, the one they had not made use of, had no fire lit and the bed had not been warmed.

On the small, round table, there were covered platters. Lifting the domed lids revealed cooked meats, bread rolls and cakes. A copper chafing dish, sitting above a small flame contained hot soup – rich with shreds of red meat and chunks of root vegetables.

“I ate earlier, but I reckon ye’ve no’ eaten since ye left this house this morning.”

“You would be correct in that assumption. For some reason, the guard seemed derelict in his duty to feed the prisoners in his care.”

Jamie merely grunted and hoped the man was feeling hungry now, fastened by the manacles that had been upon John’s wrists, and locked in a cell, gagged to prevent him from calling out for help.

“Get yerself something tae eat John. Dinna wait fer me. I’ll sort out the bags, make sure Jenny hasna been tidying them up fer me.”

Not even bothering to argue, John ladled himself a bowl full of soup and was on his second helping before Jamie joined him at the table.

“Is it good?”

“Excellent,” replied John, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “I have left enough for you – I think.”

“Dinna fash, there’s more than enough food for us here for supper.”

As Jamie helped himself to a bowl of the thick soup, he narrowed his eyes at the bounteous feast and the pile of crisp linen napkins – an excess to their requirements for the evening, but not if they were forced to go on the run and needed to take supplies with them. Anne had been very thoughtful indeed.

Watching Jamie tear a piece of bread off the loaf and dip it into the steaming hot soup, John cleared his throat before speaking.

“I do not think I actually thanked you for coming to my rescue. That was most discourteous of me, I do apologise. I think I am now in your debt once more.”

“We’re both in sae much debt to one another, there’s nae point counting,” observed Jamie, as he chewed on the crusty bread. After swallowing, he raised his spoon and pointed it at John. “But, now ye mention it, no, ye did not thank me at all. Far from it. In fact, I have never seen a man so disinclined tae be liberated from gaol.”

“I had my reasons. To be frank, you surprised me.” John paused to make sure Jamie had his full attention. “I was not expecting to see you-”

“Did ye think I would leave ye behind without a second thought?” Setting the soup bowl to one side, Jamie narrowed his eyes at John. “A Dhia, John, do ye nae ken how it made me feel when I heard them drag ye away?”

Reaching across the table to clasp hold of Jamie’s hand, John sighed and nodded his head wearily.

“I think I can imagine. After handing you the cloak and turning away… I was convinced I would never see you again.”

“Och, ye wee gomerel – that was never going tae happen! But ye’ve reminded me that there’s something I need tae give back to ye.” Jamie untied the linen stock from around his neck and then pulled the wooden rosary over his head. “Hold out yer hand – the left one.”

Pulling his chair closer to John, he pushed the loop of small wooden beads through the circle of the sapphire ring and taking hold of John’s hand he slid the ring back into its rightful place.

“It belongs there, with ye. Tae keep ye safe from harm.” Holding John’s hand in his, Jamie shrugged as if discounting a voice urging caution, before raising the fingers to his lips and bestowing the gentlest of kisses on the scuffed knuckles.

“What did I ever do to earn your friendship?” asked John, cupping Jamie’s face with the same hand, noticing for the first time how the blue of Hector’s sapphire matched the colour of Jamie’s eyes perfectly.

“Ye’ve earnt that a thousand times and more over the years we’ve known each other. It’s only in the past week, I’ve realised that I shouldha acknowledged that. Ye’ve earnt my trust and friendship, and more. Ye saved my godfather from a long painful death at Ardsmuir, ye spared me from a voyage across the ocean that wouldha killed me and ye took care of my bairn – all fer nothing more than games of chess and a handshake. Even when offered something I knew ye’d wanted fer a verra long time, ye refused to take it.”

“You promised me that I would always have your friendship. I am glad to have it,” said John earnestly. “You introduced me to your sister as trusted friend –”

“Ye ken ye’re more than that tae me, d’ye no’, John?”

“If I was but a trusted friend, that would make me exceedingly happy,” John placed a hand over Jamie’s and held it tightly. “I suspect that some of the Gaelic you have used on me conveys more than that... I only wish I understood it.”

Leaning closer, Jamie pressed his lips to John’s ear and whispered to him.

“ _Mo charaid_ means my friend.”

Moving John’s hair to one side, Jamie gently sucked on the side of his throat before murmuring to him.

“ _Mo chridhe_ – when I call ye that, it means ye have a place in my heart. Despite all my attempts to keep it shut to ye, ye wormed yer way inside and I canna shift ye.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie woke with a start and looked around to make sure John was still in the room with him and that the daring escapade at Inverness Castle really had been successful. He was relieved to see that he was not alone. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to erase the memory of the dream that had followed him into wakefulness. John had been walking away from him, not looking back – the distance between them growing in sudden increments. His own hands were settled on William, pulling him back against his legs to keep him from running after John. Then the boy had broken free and ran off, calling out for his papa. Yet John’s head was ducked down, as if trying not to hear the anguished cries of the child, and he did turn around, not even when Jamie ran and caught up with the lad, resisting the kicks and punches as he screamed at the top of his voice. Then, just before he woke, he heard a woman’s voice from behind him. A clear, crisp voice he had not heard for twenty years.

“Claire…” murmured Jamie, as he recalled what she was saying. ‘ _Let him go. He cannot stay here. You have to let him go.’_

He did not know if she was referring to William or to John.

Looking across at the naked back of John Grey, dark strands of hair fallen loose from the ribbon and curling over his shoulder blades, Jamie was not sure he could let go of either William or John. Not even if Claire were to appear and ask him to desert them to be with her. A cold sweat clung to his forehead and a gnawing feeling gripped his guts that had nothing to do with hunger.

Needing physical reassurance, Jamie stroked a pathway down John’s spine with the tips of his fingers, admiring the smooth, lean-muscled physique as he did so. He felt no envy for the unblemished skin, but there was a pang of jealousy - he was surprised to realise that he wanted no one else to touch John. But he knew with a fierce certainty that he would have sought bloody revenge had there been the slightest evidence of a lashing. Jamie had not trusted Jackson not to insist on some form of punishment before any formal sentence was imposed.

Although it was too dark to ascertain the progress of John’s bruises and scrapes, Jamie could feel no new injuries and he was grateful for that. John’s wrists were rubbed sore by the heavy manacles, but the skin was not broken. Pensively, Jamie recalled the day when John had unfastened his chains when he had first set eyes on Helwater from the top of that windswept hill. Then he had been suspicious and seething with bitterness – little had he known that John’s motives were completely honourable and that he was, even then, putting Jamie’s well-being ahead of his own reputation.

It was not long before John stirred in his sleep, grasping the pillow and arching his back in response to Jamie’s touch. Rolling onto his back, John looked into Jamie’s eyes and, even in the gloom, they were able to read each other’s expressions and came to a unanimous, unspoken decision.

Kissing each other languidly, they shared plans whispered on each exhaled breath. As fingertips and lips made promises and yearning hips spoke of physical release, they both came to the same conclusion. That if anything were to happen to either of them, that they would not live with regret over intimacies not shared in the dark shadows of the pre-dawn light.

Eventually, John laced his fingers through Jamie’s, taking into careful consideration the stiffened joints that bore witness to past torture. He sighed softly as he looked in Jamie’s eyes. Gazing into irises rich with the hues of stormy skies, neither man dared blink for fear of shattering the spell that was holding daybreak suspended on the horizon. A plaintive smile on his upturned lips signalled that John would be the one to defer to the impatient sun. He leant forward, breathing in the scent that was unlike that of any other lover he had spent the night with, and pulled Jamie close, his hands skimming across the ridges upon Jamie’s bare back. They held onto each other close one final time before reluctantly crawling out from the shelter of warm blankets and soft sheets.

Dressing in the muted light that heralded the dawn, they were grateful for the clean travelling clothes that Lady Anne had arranged to be left out for them.

Jamie reached out to halt John’s hand as he started to tie a fresh, clean stock around his neck.

“Let me, mo charaid, yer wrists are still sore.”

As the sun had begun to spill its light into their room, Jamie had noticed how the redness had barely faded and the bruising on the wrist bones was vividly purple. With a kiss to the inside of each wrist, Jamie took hold of the stock and carefully tied a knot to hold it neatly at the base of John’s throat. They then completed their dressing – helping one another into waistcoats, coats and then cloaks.

With a smile, Jamie wrapped the cloak around John.

“Ye really are a magpie aren’t ye John? Yer pockets were filled with all manner of trinkets and objects.”

“Are they all still there?”

“Aye, including that piece of Cairngorm stone. Ye should keep that with ye as a souvenir of the true Highlands-“

“That is precisely why I picked it up,” explained John, as if it should have been obvious.

“Ye should get it cut properly and set like ye did that sapphire I gave ye.”

“Maybe I shall.” John smiled to himself as he felt inside the pocket to run his thumb over the edge of the stone. He thought to himself that if their quest was successful and if they both survived, he would have it cut to produce two gems and that he would gift one to Jamie. Perhaps he could have it set in a pin shaped like a thistle flower.

“Do you have the instructions?” asked Jamie, frowning as if he was repeating himself.

“Instructions?” asked John, momentarily confused. “Oh, you mean … yes, I have them all on me and I have committed them to memory.”

“Good. Are ye ready then?”

With a sharp nod of his head, John responded in the affirmative. They then headed toward the bookcase in an alcove to the side of the bed. A sharp twist of a candlestick had the fake shelves swinging open, into their bedroom, revealing a ladder beyond. Climbing this led them upwards until they reached a trapdoor which gave access onto the roof.

They paused to watch the sun as it crept over the horizon, waiting together for that moment when the orange crest broke into the muted apricot and peach colours of the dawn. The brightness was dazzling and outshone the pale moon that appeared to hang in the branches of a dead tree, close to the bright morning star, their ethereal beauty overwhelmed by the brilliance of the sun.

John frowned, wondering if he was like the moon in orbit around Jamie, just a pale imitation of his one true love. The love whose name he had heard him murmuring earlier that morning. The name he suspected was on the tip of Jamie’s tongue when he cried out in that mindless moment of climax when senses mask rational thought and utterances made in the heat of lovemaking are forgotten – hopefully – not long after. He would never dare mention this to Jamie, for fear that he had heard his declarations of love at that very moment.

Gazing at Jamie, whose face was lit up by the warm hues emanating from the sky to the east, John smiled and tried to drink in the view hoping to hold it in his mind’s eye for the remainder of his days.

Jamie seemed to have become aware of John’s attention focused on him because he cast a glance in his direction. Catching John’s face unmasked and displaying both affection and sorrow, Jamie held out a hand.

“Are ye ready, John?”

“For whatever comes our way?”

“Yes.”

Their intentions were to travel light. They had stripped out their saddle bags and satchels to reduce what they were carrying to the bare minimum. They had the ransom, the note that Jamie had collected from Inverness, some food wrapped in the surplus napkins and the clothes on their backs. Naturally, they were also well-armed. John had sharpened the sabre that Ian had picked up from the guard in the castle, but regretted the loss of his own weapons. It had been whilst they had been packing that Jamie presented John with a gift, wrapped in soft cloth, a scabbard containing an ancient weapon, a dirk with a carved wooden hilt, featuring a stag’s head and the words ‘je suis pret’. Jamie had been almost shy when handing it over, muttering something about a late birthday gift.

John patted his coat, feeling the comfortable weight of the dagger against his hip. Jamie had said he had been carrying it with him since they had left Edinburgh thinking of giving it to William when they found him. In the end, John had only agreed to take the knife as a gift on the understanding that he would pass it onto their son when the boy was old enough to handle such a blade.

Armed with the sharpest of steel blades and bearing the precious sapphires that had been demanded in exchange for their son, they set forth, over the rooftops, stealthy as cats. As they clambered down the ladder on the other side of the roof and down towards the stable yard, Jamie pressed a finger against John’s lips, and pushed him gently against the wall.

“Nae, dinna follow me,” he whispered softly. “I’ll go and say that I want to take the horses out to exercise them before the household wakes. It’ll be nae surprise that I’ll want tae check on them before the day. Go towards the road but stay in the trees. I’ll meet ye there.”

John obediently agreed with a nod of his head, taking orders without questions, acknowledging Jamie’s superior knowledge of this type of subterfuge.

Slipping through the trees and making his way towards the rendezvous point, John was startled by the loud squawking of a chattering magpie that hopped across his path. Doffing his hat and greeting it as was the custom to avert bad luck, John swore under his breath. The last time he had encountered a solitary magpie it had brought them dreadful fortune.

By the time John had made his way through the undergrowth alongside the road, but out of sight, he heard the sounds of hooves on gravel. Jamie appeared, leading the two stallions along the lane as if heading for the pasture by the loch. Diverting into the cover of the trees, Jamie held Kaphero so that John could pull himself up and into the saddle before getting onto his own steed.

“Which way are we heading?” asked John, patting the neck of his horse, glad to be reunited with his trusty steed.

“Tae the west from here – we’re no’ going anywhere near Inverness, dinna fash. Craig na Dun is on the other side of the town, heading towards Fort William.” Jamie paused to check there was no one else around before indicating that they should ride across the road and towards the river. “Dinna fash, John, we can get there without going by road. It will take a wee bit longer, but ye’ll no’ get arrested again, no’ while I’m with ye. Come, now, it’s time to bring our lad home.”

“How do you think he is faring?” asked John, anxiously.

“I dinna ken and its doesna bear thinking about – but I can tell it’s troubling ye, John.”

“Yes – it does dreadfully,” admitted John, a tear in his eye. “I can only trust that those fiends will have kept him safe for the sake of the ransom itself, knowing that we will not exchange the gold or gems without seeing him alive and well.”

“Come on then, let’s go find William. He’s no’ far from us now. It’s time we made Geillis Duncan rue the day she stole our son.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gives me a sense of 2020 to be posting the Summer Solstice chapter on the day of the Winter Solstice - when a short distance from me, Stonehenge is shut to visitors and the solstice is being livestreamed instead...
> 
> This one is for my dear friend @Drivablecar who encourages me from the sidelines. 
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

** Chapter 17  **

In an upstairs room of an apothecary on the outskirts of Inverness, sat William Ransom, kicking his heels against the chair legs where he had been told to sit still.

“I don’t believe you can turn me into a toad,” asserted William, sticking out his lower lip defiantly.

“Ye’ll believe well enough when yer voice croaks, yer hind legs grow long, and yer feet are webbed.” Geillis pointed a long finger in the boy’s direction as she paused in her perusal of the shelves. “Dinna tempt me, laddie.”

“If you did I could hop away and escape,” replied William.

“Is that a chance ye really want tae take? Ye’d no’ get verra far before I caught ye. Dinna fash, I’d be happy tae hand ye over in a wee jar to yer papa. I may even give ye spiders and flies tae eat if ye’re good.”

“If you do that, my papa will be very angry.” William screwed up his face as if imagining his papa confronting the woman who was holding him against his will. “He would kill you if you did that.”

“I dinna think so, laddie,” said Geillis breaking into a grin as she spotted the ingredients she was looking for. She plucked two jars from the shelf and added them to the others already assembled on the bench. “Yer papa is going tae do anything I ask – trust me.”

“No, he won’t!” shouted William, wriggling against the sash that secured his body to the chair, trapping his arms to his sides. “He’s a colonel in the army and he will bring soldiers to hunt you down –”

William’s outraged protestations were cut off as Geillis cackled with malicious laughter.

“Oh, no he won’t, _mo ghille_. I’d be verra surprised if it is not him the soldiers will be after hunting down, not if the rumours from town are to be believed.” Geillis paused add a few poppy seed heads to the mortar, before chuckling to herself. “Let’s hope those ‘vicious’ Highlanders who spared me the trouble of getting him out of prison can keep yer Lord John Grey out of trouble long enough to serve my will.”

“You’re lying! He was not in prison! He is not a criminal – not like you.” Face red with anger, tears running down his face, William kicked his feet against the chair legs as hard as he could. “He’s coming to get me, and he won’t take orders from a witch!”

“Och, he will.” Geillis winked at William, her green eyes glinting in the early morning light. “He’ll have nae choice and I ken he will do anything to see ye safe.”

“You are a mean old witch!” shouted William, narrowing his red-rimmed, blue eyes in a way that resembled the look of anger that often visited the face of the man who was his true father.

“Ye’re no’ far off the truth there.” A sinister smile tugged at the corners of Geillis Duncan’s mouth as she gently tipped a few flakes of a crystalline substance to a marble mortar, before pummelling the contents with a dark wooden pestle.

“Are you making a spell?” asked William, sniffling and unable to wipe his nose. He was watching carefully, as if trying to memorise what the tall, red-haired woman was doing.

“Aye – and if ye dinna keep quiet, I’ll no’ just turn ye into a toad, I’ll also turn that papa of yours into a block of stone.” Geillis smiled to herself as if the image was sufficient to cause her great amusement. “Aye, a great big lump o’ stone.”

“I hate you!”

Ignoring the boy, Geillis flung open a window and leaned out to clip a branch from a climbing rose that was growing up the side of the building. She set it on the table, discarded the bright red flowers and then took a sharp blade to slice off the longest and sharpest of thorns. As she did so, she scraped out the pith from inside each thorn, hollowing them out. Once her task was completed she looked up at William, pleased to see that despite his defiant tone, he had quietened down.

“Yer papa is going tae help me make things right. His blood will help tae bring back the rightful heir tae the throne. He’ll sacrifice everything he has and is to see ye safe.”

“You leave my papa alone! He’s a brave soldier– not a cowardly cur,” spat William, craning his neck to see what Geillis was doing. “Mama Isobel told me – she said my papa was the most noble soldier in the whole army.”

Tutting to herself, Geillis merely focused on the contents of the mortar as she trickled in a clear, viscous liquid and stirred the powdered herbs and minerals to produce a thick paste. Carefully avoiding touching the mixture, she took a thin, metal spatula and transferred a smidgeon of the substance into each of the hollowed-out thorns. She then took a candle and let some molten wax dribble into the open ends, sealing in the contents. Stepping back, she put her hands on her hips, pleased with her morning’s work.

“Even noble men have weaknesses, _mo ghille._ ” Walking across the room to the captive child, Geillis crouched down in front of William, a sinister grin twisting at her lips. “And I know yer papa’s.”

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Wild roses were blooming riotously in the hedgerows either side of the narrow lane that led from Inverarnie into the surrounding woodland. But neither Jamie nor John paid any heed to the soft pink flowers, or the humming of bees, whose furry bodies were dusted with pollen from bright yellow stamens. Thorny branches reached out towards them, snagging on their cloaks, to leave a trail of fallen petals in their wake.

Their attentions were focused solely on scanning the land ahead for signs of other travellers, whilst listening carefully for the sounds of hooves or boots. They had not stopped since setting off from Moy Hall, but had made steady progress, sparing the horses in case they had need to take flight. It was exactly as if they were on a military campaign and getting ever closer to the battlefield.

When the tracks were wide enough, they rode side by side not speaking and not having to. Their eyes were focused on the goal of releasing William from bondage. From a woman whose motives could not be good, no matter how they were interpreted. They barely spoke, such was their focus. Nothing could have united the two men as strongly as their son being placed in peril. Their thoughts took different tangents yet returned to the same end point.

The sun was warm on John’s back as he rode behind Jamie, heading in a south-westerly direction, parallel to the meandering river Nairn, that snaked its way lazily across the broad valley. He was happy to follow Jamie who was well acquainted with the various routes that avoided the main thoroughfares, even if it did mean occasionally having to make their way along precarious sheep tracks that clung to the contours of hills. John’s own knowledge of the geography of the land was limited to the maps of the military roads he had studied before his journey to Edinburgh. It was Jamie’s territory and the last time he had been so far north was on that hellish journey from Ardsmuir to Helwater, also with Jamie, but under vastly different circumstances. That had been a time he would rather not recall, as it only brought with it feelings of remorse and sadness. He shuddered as he glanced at his own reddened wrists, from barely a day in manacles, and thought of the hundreds of miles that Jamie had endured with the metal cuffs around his wrists.

Looking towards Inverness, Jamie could make out the shape of the castle tower and he shuddered. He stole a sidelong glance at John, making sure that he was truly by his side and not still imprisoned deep within the hill on which the castle sat. It appeared to him that John was having similar thoughts, he could see the man staring at the grazes on his wrists as he held on lightly to the reins. Jamie had still to come to terms with the irrefutable fact that John had been willing to face an unsympathetic court of his peers and suffer whatever punishment they deemed suitable for his crimes. A censorious grunt escaped from deep in his throat, causing John to turn sharply and for his eyes to meet Jamie’s.

“What was that?” demanded John, ever on the alert for any word, or sound from Jamie. He turned around in his saddle to look around them. “Have you seen someone? Heard something?”

“Dinna fash, man. Just – ” Jamie shook his head dismissively. “Nae … ye just keep yer eyes facing front and dinna worry. I’ll let ye know if there’s trouble.”

Hoping for John to drop his beady-eyed scrutiny proved over optimistic on Jamie’s part. It was becoming clearer to him every day why John had been sent on intelligence missions requiring stealth and cunning.

“That was not ‘nothing’,” enunciated John with the precision he saved for times when he felt there was a point to be proved. “Come on. Confess. What were you thinking about that caused you to make that particular sound?”

“What ‘particular’ sound would that be?” asked Jamie insouciantly, although the stern gaze being levelled at him made it evident that John was not fooled.

“That Scottish grunt – the sound that seems to reverberate all the way from the bottom of your gut to your throat,” explained John, as if it was obvious what he was referring to. “Sounds very much like a stag whose harem has wandered off to court the favour of his most hated rival.“

“Really?” Jamie lifted his eyebrows and smiled at John. “Do ye spend a great deal of time analysing the sounds I make in particular, or is it all Scotsmen whose vocalisations vex ye sae much?”

“I have found such studies invaluable on those occasions where you refuse to converse with me in any other form,” replied John, acerbically, ducking his head to avoid a low hanging tree branch. “And, rest assured, there are no other Scotsmen whose grunts, roars, growls or bellowing hold any interest to me.”

“Ye make me sound like a wild animal,” retorted Jamie, with an indignant snort.

“No offence was intended,” said John, quickly, smiling as caught a glimpse of the man pouting. “Indeed, there are times when that can be very … appealing.”

Neither man said a word for a while, content to listen to the sound of hooves on the dried earth of the farm track. But from the way that John was biting his lip and the way that Jamie was shifting around in his saddle, they could tell that each other’s thoughts were straying to recollections of such sounds echoing loudly in the mountains only a few nights beforehand.

“And what do ye believe that ‘particular’ Scottish grunt signifies?” asked Jamie, with a wry smile.

“I would not like to presume to be fluent in guttural Gaelic, but I do know that you only make that sound when you’re displeased.”

“Ye think ye ken every wee noise I make do ye?” grumbled Jamie.

“I’ve spent every night with you for nearly ten days now,” said John, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue as he cast his mind over the way in which their friendship had developed over the course of those nights. “I’ve always had a talent for languages, of all manner, spoken and non-spoken. And you, sir, are by far the noisiest exponent of non-spoken communication I have ever met.”

“Weel,” drawled Jamie, a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. “While we’re talking about noises that I make, I canna ignore the fact that ye fart like a woman.”

“What?” John almost pulled Kaphero to a halt, having been caught out by such an apparent non-sequitur.

“Aye, squeaky wee farts, like yer arse is almost embarrassed to let rip,” chuckled Jamie, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he briefly considered whether or not to say what he was thinking. “A Dhia, considering what yer arse is willing to let in, that is more than a little curious d’ye no’ think?”

“Humph!” John shook his head with disbelief at the mere thought of Jamie Fraser making fun at his expense. “Well, at least I do not belch like a wretched toad.”

“Is that the best ye can manage? A toad?” Jamie stared at John and pressed his lips close together in an attempt to hold back his laughter. But as John’s face broke out into a grin, they both threw their heads back and roared with laughter

“Dear God, what has become of us since our erudite discussions of the Greek classics.”

“That’s what a week or so sleeping rough will do tae a man, even a gentleman such as yerself, John.” Jamie rolled his eyes as he gazed at the man whose company meant much more to him than it had at the start of their journey north. “There’s hope my family will take tae ye yet.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, all things considered.”

“Are ye hungry, John?” asked Jamie, changing the subject once more. “My wame is grumbling fit to wake the dead, I’m surprised ye didna add that tae the list of noises I make.”

“I had noticed. Although I am feeling in need of sustenance, I do not recall packing anything edible into my saddlebags this morning. Did I?” asked John, frowning – in his haste to ensure they had everything necessary to engage with their enemy he had not considered provisions beyond filling his canteens with water from the ewer in their bedroom

“Nae – ye didna pack any food at all,” replied Jamie, wondering how on earth John managed without his faithful valet taking care of everyday matters for him. “However, I made sure to wrap some of the food that was set out for us last night. Lady Anne made sure there was a surfeit of both victuals and napkins. Ye might ha’ thought she knew we would need to pack some up tae take with us. There’s bread, cold meats, cake and apples.”

“Then I suggest we stop at a convenient location and eat whilst we can.”

It was not long before they spotted a more densely wooded area away from the valley and ventured deep inside, out of sight to any passers-by. Dismounting from their saddles, they led the horses between the ancient oak trees. Once they had reached a suitably secluded clearing, they hobbled their horses to graze on the grass, while Jamie took the bags from their backs to give them some relief.

Setting his saddle bag down against a tree trunk, Jamie frowned as something caught his eye. Under the trees were drifts of pale blue flowers, which he had not paid any attention to until he saw them close up. He picked a sprig of the wildflower and held it in the palm of his hand– its petals the same blue as the sky and, it occurred to him, as John’s eyes when he was smiling. The centres of the flowers were yellow with small white rays radiating outwards. Glancing around the clusters of the flowering plants around the trees appeared to sparkle.

“That’s pretty,” observed John, crouching next to Jamie. “It looks similar to the forget-me-nots that Isobel is so fond of.”

“Aye, that’s what Claire called it, too. It was growing wild around the stones – as if it were planted there. Yet here it is. Just where we decided to stop.” Jamie shrugged and passed the flower to John before handing him a blanket roll. “Here ye go, have this and then lay the blanket away from the ants’ nests if ye can.”

Watching with fondness as John tucked the flower into a buttonhole, Jamie shrugged and shook his head to dislodge the images of bidding farewell to Claire. Memories of that day in April twenty years ago were encroaching on him more and more the closer they got to Craigh na Dun. At the edges of his soul, feelings of guilt were creeping in, causing him to question the relationship he had developed with John, as the two had come together to save ‘ _their’_ son. Taking the carved wooden snake from his pocket, Jamie, turned it over and rubbed his fingertips along the letters that carved out his son’s name, a child that Claire would never have knowledge of – conceived in deceit and brought up by the sister of the woman whose virginity he had been coerced into taking. A bairn whose stepfather had been in love with him for many years, whose feelings he was starting to reciprocate. He wondered what she would make of his closeness to John, he doubted if she would understand it, after all he barely understood it himself – perhaps it would evaporate like mist once they found William? An ache in his chest made it clear that the place in his heart currently occupied by John would forever be reserved for the man, wherever he went next.

Picking up the bag containing the foods, Jamie stood up and tucked the wooden snake away, before seeking out where John had unrolled the blanket. He smiled as he saw that John had set aside his hat and cloak before wandering off, heading towards the centre of the clearing, where the sun penetrated the canopy of leaves. He was holding his arms out to his sides, combing his fingers through the tall grasses – momentarily at peace with the world. He then came to a halt and spun around to face Jamie.

“Can you hear that?” John asked, tentatively, cupping an ear as if to amplify the sound.

“Nae – what is it?” Jamie dropped the bags he was carrying and rushed forward. The last time John had heard strange sounds in a clearing Jamie had nearly been too late.

By the time he reached John’s side, his face was scrunched up and he was grimacing as if in pain. His hands were clamped over his ears, no longer seeking to enhance the sound, but to block it out.

“John? John? Can ye hear me?” called out Jamie, trying to get his attention.

Not answering him, John stumbled and tripped over a low stone, hidden under the long grass. Jamie reached out to grab hold of John as he staggered and caught him before he fell to his knees. Sliding an arm around his waist, Jamie led John back to the place where they had left the horses, neither man looking back. If either of them had done so they would have seen a mountain hare hop over the remains of a standing stone, upon which swirling patterns had been engraved by an ancient hand. It had toppled over long ago and was covered with mosses and ferns. It had been the end of the stone, protruding from the ground, that had caught John’s foot.

“Has the buzzing stopped now, man?” asked Jamie, concerned that John was still unsteady on his feet.

“Yes,” answered John, disconcerted. “It must have been a dizzy spell brought on by lack of food and an empty stomach.”

Jamie squinted at John in disbelief.

“Ye were hit on the heid yesterday, were ye no’?”

Jamie made John sit down on the grass and then ran his long fingers over his head feeling for swellings or soft spots as Claire had once shown him.

“Maybe it’s that – but if those bastards have cracked yer skull, they’ll have me tae answer to-”

“From my recollections of yesterday evening, I believe you already checked my skull for cracks,” commented John, although he made no attempt to stop Jamie’s hands from gently probing his scalp. “Why are you assuming I was struck on the head?”

“Why?” Jamie responded, looking to heaven for patience. “Because ye didna want tae be rescued. I thought fer sure ye’d been knocked about the heid.”

“Ah, I see. That does seem a logical inference,” admitted John, his cheeks taking on a slightly pink hue. “I was not expecting to see you again or to be rescued. I truly had resigned myself to face the consequences. However, it would seem that we are destined to complete this quest side by side.”

“Aye – but before we continue, we should eat and rest a while, for we’ll need our energy fer this evening. Stay where ye are – I’ll fetch the blanket and food.”

Sitting with his back to the sun, Jamie watched John carefully as he unwrapped the cold meats, bread, cake and fruit. There was something on the man’s mind, much as there was on his – the valley was redolent with memories for both of them. It was inevitable that they would become more pensive especially at this time of year.

“What’s on yer mind?” asked Jamie as he handed John a napkin containing a few slices of smoked venison and a chunk of bread.

“Thank you,” replied John. “On my mind? I’m not sure, to be honest. A sensation of being unsettled as if the world is slightly off kilter.”

Jamie took a bite of his piece of bread and chewed thoughtfully for a while, contemplating the fact that John was reacting to their surroundings so strongly. He was pleasantly surprised in some respects, yet also worried.

“This time of year – it’s no’ just midsummer or the solstice, it’s also known as St John’s Eve,” explained Jamie, tearing off a shred of meat. Before putting it in his mouth he looked John in the eye and added: “It is said that the veil between this world and the next is verra thin on the longest day of the year and that powerful forces are unleashed.”

“Do you actually believe in such things?” asked John, his scepticism having been previously tested by his experiences with supernatural phenomena. “Tales of witchcraft and ghosts?”

“I was brought up tae both believe it and fear it,” answered Jamie, contemplating his upbringing in the Catholic church as well as the ancient customs of the Highlands. “Come now, John, we both felt the strength of that force that tried to pull ye through that damn stone – ye canna have forgot that already, have ye?”

“Certainly not,” responded John, as he twisted Hector’s ring around his finger, the gem of which had been permanently disfigured by that encounter. “But, I am, by nature, a rational man. Life has taught me to be an observer – to watch and to be quiet. The past few days have been quite a revelation, to be free of conventions and society’s mores. In the city, it is easy to be disdainful of ghost stories and dismissive of the old ways – despite what I have witnessed for myself. But here, it’s part of the landscape – every stone and rock seems to thrum with life. The trees, even those twisted, wizened hawthorn trees on the steepest of hillsides seem to move their limbs even when there is not the slightest of breezes.”

Jamie found himself smiling as he listened to John speak of the Highlands in such enlightened terms – it was if he was watching his dear friend’s eyes open to the beauty and majesty of a country he had once marched through. His own eyes began to tear up slightly and he had to roughly wipe them with the back of his hand. _If only John could stay in Scotland_ , the thought came to him, _he could be at peace with himself._

Self-consciously, John looked away from Jamie’s face. Absently, he attempted to adjust the sprig of forget-me-nots that were wilting in a buttonhole of his waistcoat. As he tried to pull the softened stems into place a droplet of sap dripped onto the fine woollen cloth. Watching the futile efforts of John’s slender fingers as he tried to manipulate the delicate flowers reminded Jamie of something that he had once seen Murtagh do before battle. Frowning to himself, Jamie pointed at the scabbard that John had placed within easy reach next to the blanket.

“Have ye checked tae see if that sword is fit fer purpose?”

John abandoned his attempts to tame the wildflowers and picked up the scabbard. He slid the sabre free and held it out at arm’s length to test the balance. He then scowled as he inspected the blade’s edge. It was notched and dulled from lack of sharpening.

“Dear God in Heaven, that man had no right to carry this weapon if he had no intention of maintaining it in good condition. Is my whetstone still in my satchel?”

“Aye, where else would it be?” Jamie shook his head and reached for his own saddlebag. “Or do ye think we divvied up yer belongings as soon as they clapped ye in irons?”

“I would have hoped not. But I saw that young scoundrel of a nephew of yours loitering behind you, with a hand already on Kaphero’s flank.” John was able to smile in hindsight, yet the recollection of being arrested and parted from Jamie still haunted him. “I was certain he was going to try to rob you.”

“Oh aye? I think ye’ll find ye’re the one with an eye fer other people’s belongings, yer Lordship. Here ye go – use mine.” While John unwrapped the whetstone from the rag it was kept in, alongside a small vial of oil and a leather strop, Jamie plucked a handful of the forget-me-not flowers and squeezed the stems to release the sap. “Here, use this. I saw Murtagh do this – he told me that the juice of these plants can heighten the sharpness of steel, claiming a blade thus sharpened could cut through stone. Doesna hurt to try. Make sure that sabre is sharp as a razor. I’ll no’ be happy unless it sings as it slices through the air.”

Shaking his head, John held out the blade letting Jamie smear the edge with the squashed plant material. Setting the whetstone on a flat area of ground, John held the sabre perpendicular to the well-worn slab of stone and firmly dragged the edge of the blade across the stone.

“How long has it been since you’ve had to use your sword and not your fists?” John asked Jamie as he focused on the task at hand. “I mean no disrespect, but there were many years when you were not permitted a weapon.”

“Are ye suggesting I’m out of practice?” Jamie felt insulted but could almost imagine his godfather’s disapproving expression. “I’ll be fine, what about ye?”

“When I have the chance, I’ve been fencing regularly. At least when I am in London. There’s less opportunity at Helwater, ” stated John as he held the blade up, letting the sunlight dance along the curved edge. “It is essential that I can fend for myself equally well on the streets around Seven Dials as on the battlefields of the Continent.”

“Have ye had cause tae defend yerself, John? In London?” asked Jamie, his voice tinged with concern.

John hesitated, but on seeing Jamie’s raised eyebrow and relented.

“There have been a few occasions,” he admitted, wincing as he saw Jamie’s eyes narrow.

“A few? A Dhia, John – ye’ve never said a word. Random attacks, or targeted? Have ye been hurt badly?” Jamie then thought back to the scars on John’s body. “Those fresh scars I saw-”

Cutting off Jamie’s barrage of enquiries, John stood up and swung the freshly sharpened blade around his head in an arching curve, letting the blade sing just as Jamie had requested. He then grinned and speared an apple, only to toss it high into the air. Catching it in the hand not gripping the hilt of the sabre, John took a bite from the apple and then fixed Jamie with a stern look of his own.

“I have made enemies as well you know,” sighed John with resignation. “There will always be those who bear grudges for a very long time and who are willing to employ others to assault a solitary man on foot.”

“Why do ye no’ walk in the company of others if ye’re in danger?” challenged Jamie.

“Because the company I keep would have attracted even deadlier attacks, my dear.” John raised his eyebrows as if to make it clear what type of company he was referring to.

“Humph.” John’s answer had failed to appease Jamie and had only served to sow seeds of something akin to jealousy in his mind. “If ye ever have need of someone tae mind yer back – ye ken I would be there fer ye.”

“Thank you, I would trust you to have my back more than any other man living.”

Crouching down, John busied himself wiping away any traces of residue from the blade and then returned it to the scabbard, satisfied that it would serve him adequately if required.

“Before we set off, I think we should read through the ransom notes one more time,” suggested John, taking the notes from his cloak and clutching them tightly in one hand. “Do you agree?”

“Aye, let’s make doubly sure we’ve no’ overlooked anything. Do ye want some of the cake before I pack this all away?” added Jamie, gesturing at the slab of fruitcake he had requisitioned.

“Will there be enough to save some for William?” asked John in response.

“I take it the lad still has a sweet tooth then?” Jamie grinned as he recalled sneaking out sweetmeats from the kitchen for Willie as a reward for helping him in the stables.

“Yes – although Isobel and his grandmother fret that he will never shed his puppy fat.”

“They’re no’ still trussing the lad up in those damn corsets are they?” demanded Jamie, ready to take issue with John as that had been one matter upon which he had made his own feelings abundantly clear.

“No. I have insisted that he is to develop good posture from horse-riding, not as a result of being constrained within whalebone,” stated John, reassuringly. “I informed Isobel that I never wore a corset and that my posture did not suffer.”

“ _Buidheachas, mo charaid._ I was a chubby wee lad according tae Jenny, so if he takes after me, he’ll soon grow tall and lean.”

Considering John’s concerns, Jamie split a piece of fruit cake between them as they discussed the notes from Geillis Duncan item by item. 

“So, we are in agreement then?” asked John, standing up to scatter crumbs of bread and cake onto the ground and watching as the chaffinches darted in from the thicket to feast on the unexpected bounty. He gathered up the pieces of paper and folded them up before tucking them back inside a hidden pocket of the cloak. “This is a trap we’re riding into?”

“Aye – I’d say it is,” agreed Jamie as he wrapped the rest of the food up and tucked it back into his saddle bag, before strapping it back in place on Mac Dubh’s back. “Fire festivals attract all manner o’ folk – both farmers and townsfolk alike. At the solstices, ye dinna interfere wi’ anyone else’s business. A bit like the customs of misrule, ye ken.”

“Lawlessness?” asked John, seeking confirmation, as he hoisted himself up onto Kaphero. 

“Aye, ye could say that. And Mistress Duncan was never a law-abiding lass in the best o’ times.” Jamie tapped his fingers on his thigh as he considered what trouble they were possibly heading into. “I hate to think of what she’s up to, the _ban-druidh_.”

“It must specifically involve the stones at Craigh na Dun. After all, there are stone circles in the Lake District too.” John frowned as he stated the obvious. “If not, she could have just as easily taken William to Kendal or Carlisle and asked for me to meet her there. That would have been as good a place as any to grab the ransom, before leaving both myself and William dead in an alley.”

Jamie blanched at the notion but had to agree. If it were any other child-napper intent on extracting ransoms from well-to-do gentry, there would be no need to travel so many hundreds of miles from the place from which the child had been abducted.

“And the timing? The solstice,” muttered John. “As we’ve discussed before, that must have significance.”

“Aye, trust me, John, this woman – this she-devil – does nothing without planning every move. She has asked fer ye to meet her there with jewels on the solstice fer a reason. I only wish I knew what it was.”

As Jamie held the reins of his horse he glanced around to check that they had left no sign of their presence in the clearing. Whilst he waited, John lifted his hand to gaze into Hector’s sapphire to inspect the occlusion that had appeared within it not long after his encounter with the standing stone on the hill above Calvine.

He scowled, as the shape had seemed to have coalesced into a more distinct shape. It was definitely a blade of some sort.

“What is it, John?” asked Jamie, glancing across to John as he put his foot in the stirrup ready to get back into the saddle.

“Here – take a look.” John pulled the ring from his finger and held it out for Jamie to take. “The sapphire has changed again – the flaw has become more distinct.”

Jamie took the ring and then reached into a pocket to pull out his spectacles, which he then placed on the end of his nose. He squinted as he held the ring aloft, to catch the light from the sun.

“That’s verra strange, and ye claim it’s never had that inside afore now?”

John ducked his head and cleared his throat. He appeared to be searching for words – but Jamie already knew the answer. He had first seen that ring on John’s hand at Ardsmuir and as far as he knew, John was never without it close by. 

“Ye dinna need to say a word, John. I understand.” Jamie passed the ring back to John and waited for him to place it back on his finger before reaching across to gently brush a thumb across the gemstone. “If ever I doubted what ye’d said about the love between two men, all I ever needed was to have seen the way ye look at that wee ring tae ken ye were speaking the truth.”

John bit his lower lip and pressed his eyelids closed in a vain attempt to keep an errant tear from escaping the delicate cage of lashes. Jamie noticed and gently thumbed away the tear from his cheekbone.

“It’s alright, John. I ken how it feels to have lost a great love. I’ll never see my Claire again. She is gone – the morning of the battle was the last time I saw her. To her I am as dead as Hector is to you.”

Jamie sighed softly and then turned his horse to lead them back through the trees to the river valley. As they emerged into the broad floodplain, marshy in places with reeds and yellow flag plants indicating boggy ground, they both looked downstream, to the east, where the river Nairn eventually flowed through Culloden Moor.

“Dear God, Jamie,” John swallowed hard as he came up beside Jamie who was gazing in the same direction. “To think that twenty years ago, we were parted from those we loved most on the very same day and just a few miles apart.”

“I’d never thought of it that way, John, but ye’re right, _mo chridhe_.” Jamie paused to look up and down the valley, from the direction of Culloden Moor to the hill where he recalled last seeing Claire that fateful day in April 1746. A cold breeze blew in from nowhere and set his teeth on edge. Focusing on John, he saw his own grief mirrored in his dear friend’s eyes. “That damn battle cost both of us people we loved dearly.”

Without saying another word, Jamie gently dug in his heels and moved away from John, his thoughts troubling him. At the precise moment they met each other’s eyes, each having looked in the direction of their last moments spent with their first true loves, it occurred to him that his life had been inextricably interwoven with that of John Grey ever since the fateful encounter at Corrieyairack Pass. It would seem that they were fated to be part of each other’s lives. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they headed further upstream along the Nairn, the valley became narrower. There were more people travelling on the lanes and cattle tracks as they grew closer to the stones, farmers’ wagons loaded with farmhands and barrels of ale. Strolling alongside, holding hands, were groups of young girls, with floral garlands woven into their braids, composed of brilliant blue cornflowers, scarlet poppies and ox eye daisies, flowers growing wild in the meadows they passed.

The girls and women carried baskets filled with bread and other foodstuffs. As Jamie and John attempted to ride past the group, a few of the young women started to giggle and nudge each other nervously as they linked arms and walked coquettishly between their horses, evidently trying to capture the men's attention.

Jamie spared John a glance to ascertain what he was making of the mood of the people heading for the place where they would finally see their son once more. If he had earlier on had doubts that William would be here, the closer he got the more convinced he had become. It made sense that the witch Geillis had more than one agenda. It also occurred to him that her contacts at Helwater had probably told her the rumours concerning the paternity of the heir to the estate. In which case she was expecting both of them.

Feeling Jamie’s gaze fall upon him, John looked back and smiled nervously.

“It seems that there shall be quite a large gathering at the stones this evening.”

“I told ye – it’s Midsummer. All manner of celebrations and festivities during the day – drinking and feasting. Although, once the sun sets the mood will become more solemn. Ye’ll see.”

“The second note said to be in the centre of the stones when the moon was highest in the sky – will there not be a great number of revellers around, even then?”

“No’ sae many then, John.” Jamie shook his head and let Mac Dubh break into a trot to get past a wagon that had lost a wheel and was holding up others on the track. Once past the bottleneck, he waited for John to catch up before explaining: “Most folk will come back down the hill and then return when the sun rises. There are those who dance around the stones just after the sun sets and just before it rises. Others who light fires. But, it is believed that whoever dares spend Midsummer’s Night in the midst of a stone circle will come out the other side a bard or mad. Either that or ye’d be spirited away by the fairies or found dead nearby.”

“Fairies?” John shuddered as recollections from the bogs of Ireland reared up to haunt him. “Dear God, I thought I had heard enough of those creatures in Ireland.”

“Doesna mean they dinna exist, John. Mind – I can think of another reason folk may disappear if they ventured too close to the stones –”

“Your wife? Claire?” asked John, hesitantly.

The corner of Jamie’s mouth quirked up as Jamie found himself thinking fondly of Claire.

“Aye.”

“The stones,” started John. “You told me that there were rituals that take place at Midsummer. What nature of rituals?”

“They’re usually linked to farming – when the days start to get shorter again. Fires are lit at ancient sites and then bundles of heather are lit and the flames carried around field boundaries to ward off evil.”

“How ironic then, that there will be evil in its midst.”

“Aye,” agreed Jamie, nodding his head. There was something troubling him, like an itch he could not scratch. A feeling that sharp steel only would not be sufficient to protect them as they walked into the web woven by Geillis Duncan.

As they rode ahead of the crowds, easily slipping past them on their faster steeds, they moved off the road once more to ride ahead under cover of trees and undergrowth. The longer they could remain hidden from view the better – their plan was to find Geillis and William before the appointed hour for the exchange.

Once out of sight of the trailing groups of revellers, they crossed the river that was not much more than a shallow stream and travelled on beyond the sharp cliff face to one side of the hill before heading along old overgrown tracks that led up towards to the summit. Passing a dilapidated cottage, with only three walls and no roof, John observed a tear slide down Jamie’s cheek and wondered at the significance of the ruin. He chose to keep back and to allow Jamie his moment of sorrow. Once they had agreed on a suitable campsite, in an isolated location, they hobbled their horses and lit a campfire – Jamie explained that it would act as a claim to the site and keep others away, rather than attract attention. He suggested they kept their hats tipped forwards and that he faced the pathways to keep watch. They were fortunate in that others did not trouble them but wandered past, some singing, others dancing, many carrying bundles of heather as they made their way through the pine trees and oaks towards the top of the hill where the stones were located.

As the sun started to slide down behind the crest of the hill, the air was filled with the scent of wood smoke from small fires lit across the hillside. Cheers and whoops went up as the sun’s light faded, letting the moon rule more splendidly in the dusk. The singing had become softer and more melodic and through the trees they glimpsed a group of women, dressed in diaphanous gowns, each holding a lit torch. Under the silver and gold of the celestial bodies, the women swayed in time to a tune played on a fiddle as they wove their way across a floor of pine needles towards the stone circle. Once the party of singers and dancers had drifted past, Jamie nodded to John and they both headed in the opposite direction, swords unsheathed and close by their sides, ready to fight if they had to.

The twilight was suffused with smoke from the numerous fires, some of which were lit with peat and others with heather, still green and smoking. Herbs thrown onto the fire lent the air a heady scent. It was dark amongst the trees, which gave them cover, yet also made it difficult to see where they put their feet.

“ _Ceo gheasacach,_ ” muttered Jamie.

“What?” whispered John.

“Magical mist – have yer wits about ye, John.”

“I would if I could see them,” whispered John, untangling his cloak from a branch that seemed to reach out and grab hold of it as he passed.

They worked from the bottom of the hill, wandering upwards and carefully observing each campsite as they passed, politely nodding at any who noticed them and greeted them. Then ahead of them, in front of a substantial fire, they saw the silhouette of a small child, arms tightly wrapped around his middle and curly hair in disarray.

Jamie made an involuntary sound, only to have John clap a hand over his mouth, stemming the sound before it escaped into the night air.

Both men stared at the child, recognising him instantly – and both unable to move such was their mutual shock at finding their son.

It was that momentary paralysis that caught them out. Jamie felt it first, the hair standing up on the back of his neck and then John as he picked up on the sound of breathing behind him. Together, they spun around and lifted their swords out in defence. Moving to stand almost back-to-back, they found themselves facing two heavily armed men. Each holding a large broadsword and grinning as if they had no fear of what would happen to them. Their adversaries circled around the two men, moving in opposite directions, causing John and Jamie to press their backs to one another defensively. It came to them naturally and Jamie was glad to have John at his back.

“I command you to step aside and let us pass unheeded,” demanded John.

“I dinna think tha’s going tae happen,” said one, threatening John with a sweep of his sword that caused John to lift his sabre up quickly to block the blade before it struck his face.

“Do as he says,” growled Jamie, breathing heavily. “If ye stay out of our way, ye’ve nothing tae fear. But if ye dinna move out of my way, I shall kill ye.”

The two men laughed and started walking around in a circle, advancing every now and then – teasing John or Jamie with prods and slashes from their weapons, their moves designed to test the men and not to engage them in an open fight. Then a shrill laugh cut through the smoke-filled air, accompanied by a child’s cry of pain. Spinning around they saw a tall, red-haired woman clasping William to her skirts, gripping hold of his arms as he wriggled and kicked.

“Papa!” yelled out William, looking over his shoulder. “I knew you’d come – I told her you would.”

“William – stay still,” commanded John. “Don’t come too close. We shall come to you when it is safe!”

As William relaxed his grip on hearing his father’s words, Geillis grabbed both of his hands in one of hers. She then spun him around and took a knife from a pocket in her skirt. William could not see the black knife, but it was visible to both Jamie and John.

“Ye wee bitch – if ye harm that boy, one of us shall kill ye!” spat Jamie.

“I dinna think so, Fraser,” Geillis smiled as she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s good of ye to join yer friend here. I was hoping ye would.”

John leaned back, his head meeting Jamie’s as he whispered urgently:

“I’ll create a distraction. Grab William. She will not harm him, she has not got what she wants yet. On the count of three. One-”

“Nae! John!” hissed Jamie. “Dinna-”

“Two – three!” whispered John, before dropping to the ground, spinning around and taking on one of the two men, slicing his sabre across the man’s thighs, causing him to scream out as blood streamed down his legs.

With one of their adversaries out of action, John pushed Jamie towards William and launched himself at the other man. His sabre clashing with the broadsword, he caught the man unawares.

Cursing to himself, Jamie made a dash for Geillis, who was screeching at her men, infuriated as she tried to hold onto a squirming child. Not waiting any longer, emboldened by the presence of his papa and a man who seemed awfully familiar, William sank his teeth into the woman’s hand and as soon as she relaxed her grip he ran towards the man she had called Fraser.

Jamie gathered his son up in one arm and hugged him tight. William was close enough to recognise him and squealed in delight.

“Mac? It's you!” William was thrilled to see his old friend, but seeing his papa taking on two men with swords he was also terrified. “Help papa! You have to help him!”

“On my shoulders, Willie, like ye did when ye were smaller and hang on tight.”

Jamie hoisted William up and felt the small legs tighten over his shoulders as small hands grabbed onto his hair, just like when he had given the boy ‘pony rides’ at Helwater.

“Hold tight, lad. I need to help yer papa!” Jamie reached up to grab hold of one of William’s legs with one hand ready to haul him back if he were to become dislodged.

The man that John had wounded was back on his feet and advancing on John with murder in his eyes. Meanwhile, John had positioned himself with a large oak to his back, allowing him to take on both men at once, but he was struggling to hold his own against two much taller men, each wielding a heavier weapon than his sabre. 

Jamie drove forward into the melee, intercepting a blow from the wounded Scot before it caught John’s blindside. As the other man raised his sword double-handed, high into the air, aiming to split John’s skull, Jamie stabbed his own blade into the man’s back, unbalancing him and causing him to swing around, no longer an immediate threat to John.

Seeing Jamie take on one of the men, John was horrified to see William perched on his shoulders, grabbing fistfuls of auburn curls.

“You promised me that you would save William before me!” he snarled angrily, his voice dripping with fury.

“Aye that I did! I have the lad, now I can save ye, _mo cridhe_!” snapped Jamie. “Just like I swore I would.”

They parried and countered blows until their arms were tiring from sustained impacts – Jamie hindered by not being able to wield his weapon with two hands as he often would in such situations. Bringing up a knee to dislodge the man who was trying his best to disarm him, John pushed the man away as he screamed out, only to have the man return to launch yet another attack wild-eyed and maddened with rage. Having no option, John ducked and then drove his blade upwards, skewering his opponent, who fell to the ground clutching his guts.

Panting, close to exhaustion, John leaned back against the tree, only to feel something prick his neck. Reaching up automatically, he wondered if he had leant against a thorn. But then he saw the oak leaves upon the ground at his feet, which seemed to be rising up to meet him. It came to him that it was an old, gnarled oak tree behind him and not a hawthorn.

“Jamie…” John gasped out in warning, looking up just in time to see Jamie finish off his own opponent.

Seeing John collapsing, Jamie dashed across to him, thinking that he must have been wounded before felling the man on the ground between them. Leaping over the body that was in his way, Jamie watched as John slumped forward, releasing his blood-stained weapon as he did so. His terror was only exacerbated by William’s cries of anguish piercing his ears.

Crouching down quickly, Jamie let William scramble to the ground, but held onto his hand, pulling him away from John, even as the boy tried to run to his papa.

“John, _mo leannan_? What is it?” demanded Jamie, tears pricking at his eyes. “Where did he get ye?”

“Is papa hurt badly?” asked William anxiously.

“I canna see any blood, Willie. Stay close by. I need to keep him awake.”

It was as Jamie started to slap John’s cheeks lightly, trying to rouse him, that he felt it. It was barely a scratch on his neck – he swatted the area, thinking it was a gnat biting into his flesh. But then there was another one, just under his ear. Before long, he was no longer able to focus on John’s face. The sounds of laughter and shouting from the top of the hill receded into the distance, the air became darker and smoke filled his lungs. He coughed and desperately tried to drag in a breath.

“A Dhia…” were the last words Jamie uttered before his hand slipped free from William’s and he fell across the body of John Grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three chapters left - if worried, check the tags... although I must admit that they are not yet complete and more are to be added.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - cliff hanger alert. 
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

** Chapter 18 **

_“My father is not a groom!”_

_“No, William, he is more than that. He is a Scottish Laird – a noble man.”_

_“No!”_

_“William – trust me. You must do as he says – promise me.”_

_“Don’t you want me anymore?”_

_“I shall always be your papa and I will always love you – almost as much as he does.”_

Voices swirled around his head – a child’s indignant voice, broken by sobs and the soft tones of John Grey.

The sounds of those voices were replaced by distant squeals and laughter. As he came around, the voices in his head faded away. His mouth was dry, his tongue swollen, and his head felt as if he had been dosed with opium. No wonder he had been having such vivid dreams. He sighed bitterly, wondering at the way in which his dreams still persisted in taunting him.

Jamie gradually became aware of his surroundings. Sounds had returned first, the high-pitched screeches and discordant singing, and then muffled sobbing and sniffling closer to him, coming from behind. The latter was disturbing, but he could not initially understand why. Under his cheek was a smooth, cushioned surface, not earth nor grass. His efforts to straighten his legs and sit up were frustrated by the fact that his ankles were tightly tied, as were his wrists. There was something tugging at the cords binding his hands behind his back, and as he struggled against it he heard a shocked gasp followed by yet another louder sob.

_William!_

Looking over his shoulder, he was too bleary-eyed to make out much in the darkness, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, Jamie could make out the small figure crouching down, desperately trying to cut through his bonds.

Although it was dark and even though the blinds were drawn on the windows, enough moonlight crept in through the gaps for him to determine that he was curled up on the bench seat of a carriage and that William was crouched down in the foot well.

“William?” he whispered urgently. “Are ye alright, _mo ghille_? Did they hurt ye?”

Looking up, his eyes glistening with tears, William nodded and then shook his head before blurting out on a sob that his papa had been taken.

“When? Did they bring him here first?” demanded Jamie, needing answers, yet not wanting to frighten his son. “D’ye ken where they were taking him?”

Getting no answers, Jamie realised that he needed to comfort William first and he could not do that facing away and tied up.

“Dinna fash,” muttered Jamie and then recalled the tugging at the ropes he had felt when he had first come around. “What are ye trying to cut the ropes with? Do ye have a wee knife there?”

“It’s papa’s knife. He told me where it was hidden. But the bad men came too soon-” William broke into sobs once more. “The rope was too thick. I tried- ”

“Hush there, dinna fret. We’ll cut these between us and then I’ll go find yer papa.” Jamie spoke as gently as he could, despite being just as afraid for John’s safety as William. “I need ye to hold the knife as still as ye can, between the seat and the rope and let me do the work – can ye do that?”

“Yes Mac,” came the sniffly response.

William held the knife with both hands, clasping the carved hilt as Jamie pulled his arms apart as far as he could so that he would not inadvertently cut himself. He then moved his hands up and down, relieved as he felt the blade bite into the cords and once he felt the tension weaken, he wrenched his hands apart, pulling the cords free. Quickly sitting up, he turned to take the knife from William’s shaking hands and started to work on the cords around his ankles.

“ _Balach math_ , good boy. That’s verra well done.”

A shaft of moonlight fell across the knife as Jamie set it down by his side. He saw the silhouette of the stag’s head and John’s words came to mind, his promise to pass the dirk Jamie had gifted him to William when he was of an age to use it wisely. Evidently, John had chosen his time well. Although Jamie was glad in some respects, it did mean that John was probably unarmed.

“What is it?” asked Jamie as he pulled the rope free from his feet. William was staring at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Papa told me a secret,” whispered William, chewing his lip as if afraid to repeat whatever John had said to him. “He said you were my real father. Is it true?”

“What exactly did yer papa say to ye?” asked Jamie cautiously, his heart beating wildly in his chest. _Were those dreams real? Had John’s soft-spoken words filtered into his head?_

William climbed up onto the opposite bench and sat with his knees tucked up into his chest, arms wrapped around them. He cleared his throat and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Papa said that if anything happened to him I must trust you because you are my real father.”

“Did ye believe him?” asked Jamie, watching warily as he coiled up the scraps of rope and tucked them away in case they proved useful. He desperately wanted for William to know he was his father yet did not want him to feel shame at the manner of his conception. “Did he tell ye how I came tae be yer father?”

“He said my mother didn’t want the mean old earl to put a baby in her tummy, so she asked you to do it before she was made to marry him.” William tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Jamie as he continued. “Papa said she loved you.”

Jamie rubbed a large hand over his face and sighed. He should have known that John would make the whole sordid affair sound more like one of those damn romantic novels he favoured. The man had apparently left out any details that would cast either Geneva or himself in a bad light. But by doing so, he had spared William and allowed him to know the truth in a way an eight-year-old could accept.

“Is it true?” asked William. “Is that what happened?”

“Aye, close enough – but ye ken yer papa still loves ye, don’t ye?” Jamie hoped that the revelation had not driven a wedge between John and the boy he had brought up with so much love and care.

“Yes. He told me that.” William nodded his head solemnly.

“Did yer papa say why we kept it a secret?” Jamie leaned forward and placed a hand gently on William’s knee. 

“Yes.” William paused to rub his nose against his coat sleeve once more. “Papa told me you are a Scottish lord, but it had to stay a secret. And, he said you trusted him and mama Isobel to look after me when you had to go back to Scotland.”

“I did, there was and is no one I would trust more tae care fer ye than yer papa,” confirmed Jamie, as he tried to keep his restless fingers from drumming on his thigh. Despite his anxiety to go after John, he wanted to relish the moment forever – when William accepted him as his father.

“Papa said you love me very much and that you would look after me now.”

“I do and I shall, I swear that tae ye.” Jamie bowed his head, to hide the errant tears that had escaped and were starting to run down his cheeks. A mixture of tears of joy and sadness. He was grateful to John for making sure that William knew he was his father, and heartbroken that John had essentially prepared the boy for his own demise.

“Mac?” asked William reaching out a small hand and pulling at the edge of his cloak. “Can I still call you Mac?”

“Aye, of course ye can.” Jamie ruffled the soft dark curls on his son’s head. “When ye feel ready, ye can also call me da.”

Alert to the needs of his son, Jamie reached into his pocket and fetched out the carved wooden snake and handed it over to William.

“Here, ye can take this back now. We got yer message at the coaching inn. That was verra clever.”

William took hold of the carved snake and held it to his chest.

“What is happening, Mac?” he pleaded. “What is that old witch going to do to papa?”

“I dinna ken, but I need tae get ye somewhere safe first.” Jamie roughly wiped the back of his hand across his face, recalling the promise he had made to John. This time he would get William to safety first before going to John’s aid.

“I want to help -” William started to declare out loud, only for Jamie to quickly hold a hand over his mouth stifling his protest.

“Hush!” hissed Jamie, lying down on the bench seat, his arms behind his back, and his head facing in the direction of the carriage door. “There’s someone coming.”

A scraping sound outside had reached Jamie’s ears, indicating that someone was trying to quietly lever open the door. Then a sliver of light opened up, letting the scents of woodsmoke enter the interior of the carriage.

“Uncle Jamie?” came a whispered enquiry. “Is that you?”

“Ian? What the hell are ye doing here?” sitting up quickly, Jamie leant forward, shocked to see his nephew at the door when he had been ready to fight, the dirk clutched tightly in his right fist.

“Thank God it’s ye at last,” came an exasperated response. “I tried three other carriages afore this one and found all manner of hochmagandy that ye wouldna believe. Although, I wouldna put it past ye engaging wi’ such activities wi’ yer –”

“Ian! This here is William!” Jamie quickly interrupted, glaring at Ian as he pointed at the small boy curled up in the corner of the bench across from the one he was sitting on. “William, this is one of yer cousins. He’s my sister’s son.”

“Oh, hullo there – I’m Ian.” Jamie’s nephew smiled at the small, curly-haired boy.

“Is it safe outside?” asked Jamie, getting to his feet, his head bent down low as he reached out to take hold of William’s hand.

“Aye, there’s nae one else about,” whispered Ian, holding open the carriage door and keeping an eye out as Jamie stepped out, holding onto William. “So, the lad knows?”

“Aye – yer ‘ _Uncle John’_ told him while I was knocked out,” whispered Jamie raising an eyebrow to make it clear that Ian was to keep quiet on the matter of his relationship to John. “I need ye tae look after William, while I look fer his papa.”

“Oh - I ken where they took him. We saw two men taking him up the hill. Come on, I’ll mind the lad. Fergus went ahead to-”

“Fergus?” Jamie was not sure why he was surprised. He and John had assumed that they could embark on this mission alone, but they had both underestimated the cunning of Geillis Duncan. “A Dhia – should I ask why are ye both here?”

Ian had gathered William up to sit on his own shoulders, giving him a piggyback ride as he often did for his own nephews.

“After ye’d snuck out this morning, Lady Anne and Ma said this would be where ye’d be heading. Ma has gone on tae Lallybroch and made us go fetch ye all tae bring home.”

“Ifrinn!” muttered Jamie. “Come on, then. I ken exactly where those bastards are taking John.”

Jamie patted William’s back.

“Hold on tight, ye hear? Whatever happens, I need ye tae keep quiet. Can ye do that fer me?”

“Yes, Mac.” William nodded solemnly as he held on tight to the young Scotsman.

“Good lad,” muttered Jamie as he strode ahead, holding the dirk he had given to John tightly in his right hand. As he did so, the motto of the Frasers, ‘Je suis pret’, embodied Jamie’s sentiments.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon was high in the night sky, coating every leaf and branch with a rim of silver. Hazy clouds of woodsmoke drifted around the lower branches of the trees, with fires being fed anew as people wandered back to feast and drink while awaiting the dawn. As Jamie had predicted, few of those gathering would risk the perils of remaining in the circle for the duration of the shortest night of the year.

Skirting around the smouldering remains of the fire where Jamie had first seen William earlier that evening, it seemed that the area was deserted. There was no sign of a skirmish, let alone either the blood or bodies of the men he and John had fought off. However, gleaming as they stood propped against a fallen log, were two swords: a sabre and a broadsword. Beside them, sitting astride the log was Fergus, a bloodied rag in his hand.

“Your weapons, milord. I took the liberty of cleaning them.”

“Did ye tidy up here as well?” asked Jamie perplexed.

“Non – this is as I found it,” explained Fergus, as he stood up and threw the rag into the dying embers of the fire. “The swords were covered by a pile of leaves. It was only by chance that I trod on them.”

“Thank ye, _mon fils_ ,” Jamie stooped down to pick up his broadsword. As he slipped it back into its scabbard, he turned to face Ian who was standing alert, watching warily. “This wee lad is my son, William, will ye take him from Ian?”

“I am pleased to meet you, William,” said Fergus, transferring the boy carefully into the crook of his arm. He could see the boy’s eyes widen as he took in the sight of the hook in place of the hand that had been taken so cruelly.

“Are you a pirate?” asked William, in awe. “Papa reads me stories about pirates.”

“Fergus is a good pirate and he’ll be guarding ye, along with Ian,” stated Jamie, rolling his eyes and saving Fergus from explaining. He then picked up the sabre and passed it to Ian. “How many are there, Fergus?”

“Three, milord. There were two men who had his lordship between them. They were met by a tall slender woman, with red hair, wearing nothing by a thin shift.”

“Papa?” whimpered William. “That’s the witch – she was going to turn me into a toad and papa into a block of stone she said.”

“It is alright, _mon petit_ ,” soothed Fergus. “Your father will rescue your papa.”

Turning to face Jamie, Fergus mouthed the word ‘encore’. Shaking his head at Fergus, Jamie set off, between the trees towards the clearing at the top of the hill. 

The pine trees and scattered oak trees became sparser as they climbed upwards until they came out into an open area near to the crest of the hill. Standing still for a moment to allow Fergus and Ian to catch up, Jamie looked up at the moon cloaked in mist glowing high in the sky. It was at its highest, the time stipulated in the ransom note. Grunting to himself, Jamie forged on towards the copse of rowan trees that stood guard around the standing stones.

Although it was midsummer, the air was chilly and smelt of evil. The stench of urine and vomit tainted the air, the inevitable consequences of an overindulgence in strong ale and cider by those too young and carefree to know better. Underfoot, floral tributes had been crushed, their delicate petals strewn, no more than pale smears against the muddied track. The purity of the blossoms destroyed. Smouldering bundles of twigs had been thrown to one side along with discarded items of clothing pulled off in reckless abandon on the way down from the hill.

Wondering how many bairns had been begat since the sun had set, Jamie shuddered as Fergus came up alongside him and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Walking more slowly, especially as there was no cover near the summit of the moonlit hill, Jamie and Ian took the lead. They crept forward, taking cover in the deep bracken clumps. As they got closer to the rowan trees, a frightening tableau revealed itself to them. Jamie held his breath as his eyes widened in horror. He dropped down, despite an urge to dash forward, this time he needed to know exactly what he was facing if he was to save John.

In front of the cleft between the two largest stones he could see John, on his knees. Dressed just in shirt and breeches, his cloak, coat and waistcoat were piled up on the ground close by. Two burly men, boldly wearing plaid, unlike the two that he and John had fought with beforehand, were busying themselves and unaware of Jamie’s presence. One of them was searching through John’s clothes, while the other arranged bundles of twigs and dried heather in a pile, using a smouldering bunch of heather to light the heap of old pinecones being used as kindling.

Wandering around the stones, trickling a fine white powder in a pattern upon the ground, was Geillis Duncan. A shaft of moonlight passed through her shift making it translucent, showing her to be naked beneath the gauzy fabric. She was holding a knife in one hand, the blade of which curved like the meanders of a river, a wicked dirk designed to inflict maximum pain when sliced into the flesh of a person. The asymmetric blade glinted as she waved it in front of her as if incanting a spell. Every now and then she dropped to the ground and used the tip of the blade to scratch a shape into the ground around the stones where John had been placed.

The man searching through John’s clothes took a knife and cut open John’s cloak, spilling forth all the objects tucked away in pockets of the lining. Amongst them was the sapphire that Jamie had given him. As if sensing the presence of the jewel, Geillis darted forward and crouched down, swiping her blade at the man, forcing him to step away. Flinging herself to the ground, she plucked the piece of red leather on which the sapphire was mounted and clutched it to her bare chest. Her mouth fell open as her eyes closed and she seemed enraptured, her body writhing on the ground as she rolled over the remnants of John’s clothing and stared up at the sky.

Glaring from his vantage point, Jamie doubted that she had taken the time to read the words stitched in the leather – powerful words, as strong as any vile spell that fell from her lips. Words in Latin, stitched in gold thread, words that spoke of friendship and love. Words that bound him and John together. The words that had opened his eyes to the depth of John’s love for him that transcended lust and desire.

Jamie motioned for Ian and Fergus to stay hidden as he rose to his full height, unsheathed his sword and marched forward, intent on confronting Geillis Duncan.

“ _Sguir dheth_! Whatever ye’re thinking of doing, in the name of God, stop!” called out Jamie as if he were an avenging angel about to cast his own wrath at the semi-clad demon prostrate on the folds of woollen cloak.

The growing blaze from the crackling pinecones and heather cast an orange glow all around, making Jamie’s curling hair appear to be a flaming halo around his head. Standing tall, armed with both broadsword and ancient dirk, Jamie’s eyes burnt brightly, reflecting the flames in the turbulent blue of his eyes, rings of fire around his dilated pupils. 

“Let him go, ye _ban-druidh_ ,” came Jamie’s dangerously quiet words.

“Oh, I dinna think so,” drawled Geillis, lying on her front. Lazily, she leaned up on her elbows, like a snake lifting its head ready to strike. “I’m no’ losing him now, no’ after all the trouble I took tae have him come here o’ his own free will.”

“He doesna look as if he’s here willingly.” Jamie’s eyes flashed across to John whose face was a picture of distress.

“Jamie …” came John’s exhaled exhortation. “Go – please go now!”

“I’m no’ leaving ye to the mercies of that bitch!” yelled Jamie, pointing at the woman who was slowly rising from the ground like a wraith, the long pale skirts of her shift puddling around her ankles.

“Tha’s no’ verra nice, James Fraser.” Geillis slowly walked towards him, her green eyes catching the light from the fire as she passed it by. “What would yer wife have thought to hear ye be sae disrespectful tae such a good friend o’ hers?”

“She wouldna care if I was tae slit yer throat, ye damn witch!”

“Och – ye never did learn did ye?” chuckled Geillis, glancing over her shoulder briefly, in John’s direction. “As fer that poor gomerel, he is verra much here of his own free will. He agreed, in exchange fer yer life and that of that wee bastard ye’ve got hidden in the undergrowth.”

Using the knife to point to the exact location of Fergus and William, Geillis grinned.

“Come out, Fergus,” called Jamie – weighing up the advantage of having his sons, adopted and by blood, staying hidden with that of having them in his sights. He was glad that Ian took the hint and kept hidden from view.

“Papa!” shouted William, distraught as soon as he caught sight of John. “Let him go, you horrible old witch!”

“Oh, there ye are – that lad looks sae much like his true father and he has the manners tae match.”

“Jamie!” called out John. “Please, get William away from this. For the love of God, do not let him witness whatever is to happen here!”

“I am no’ going tae let anything happen tae ye, John!” declared Jamie fiercely. “Dinna fash, Willie, yer papa is going to be alright.”

Geillis indicated for the two men waiting patiently, yet nervously, near the stones to move closer to Jamie and Fergus.

“Dinna harm them. I made a bargain with his lordship and I’ll keep tae it,” instructed Geillis. “I dinna want tae risk spoiling the prophecy now.”

As soon as she was assured that the men would obey her, Geillis began to sway from side to side, weaving her way between the stones until she came to stand behind John. She then held the dagger to his throat, even though her eyes had not left Jamie’s all the way around.

“Take yer hands off him, ye wicked bitch!” Raising his broadsword, Jamie stepped forward, his expression grim. “If ye shed even a drop o’ his blood, I swear I shall avenge him one hundred-fold.”

“Oohh… I wasna expecting that,” crooned Geillis, licking her lips. “I doubted that ye both would share the same weakness – each other. But this is perfect. Balanced. The two of ye and the lad between – triangles hold such power, ye ken. Aye, I can see them now – yer auras - stretching out and mingling, intertwining. Oh yes, that’s such verra powerful magic.”

Jamie refused to respond to the woman’s words, knowing that they were aimed at distracting him, catching him off-guard. There was far too much in jeopardy for that. Even if she was describing the feelings that had grown ever stronger in his heart as he had travelled to the stones with John. Their mutual love of their son pulling them closer together and allowing him to finally accept John’s love for him and to accept his own feelings for the Englishman.

“For the love of all that is holy,” pleaded John, gritting his teeth as he spoke. “Whatever foul intentions you have, wait until the child is taken from this place.”

Turning from John to William, Jamie saw the same expression on his son’s face. A fierce anger – not fear any longer, but fury. The boy had learnt that from John, although it echoed Jamie’s emotions perfectly.

“Nae, John, I swear tae ye she’ll no’ succeed. Dinna fash, William is safe now-”

“Och, the brat was never in any danger,” announced Geillis, laughing to herself as she moved away from John and towards Fergus. “It was never about the bairn – but I knew that taking the snotty wee bastard would bring his 'papa' racing tae this place with the sapphires. It was only ever about him and the jewels.”

“What was?” asked Jamie, relieved she had moved the blade from John’s throat, but anxious that she had her eyes on William. With a glance in John’s direction, he realised that it was imperative that he kept her talking. He could tell that John was in pain but could see no sign of injuries. “What the hell are ye up tae?”

As suspected, Geillis was so caught up in her gleeful boasting that she was keen to talk, to share the details of her scheme.

“D’ye forget sae soon? The Stuart claim tae the throne? Ye and that bitch of a wife – ye killed _my_ Dougal didn’t ye?” hissed Geillis, causing Jamie to blanch.

Twenty years later and he still prayed for forgiveness for that sin, even though he had no choice as Dougal would have murdered Claire if he had not killed him first. He had half expected to be executed for his crime on his return to Culloden.

“Aye – ye may well look ashamed. Ye mind me o’ yer uncle Dougal, _a sionnach_ , except he was loyal tae the cause, a _duine uasal_ , unlike ye.” Geillis spat at Jamie. “Cavorting with a Sassenach and plotting against yer own clan. Nae wonder yer wife ran away fer her own safety.” Geillis paused to stare at Jamie, watching his reactions to her disclosures. “But it doesna matter, fer I can try again. Open the stones again and go back. I can start over – relive my life through the rising, but I’ll no’ make the same mistakes.”

“Ye’re mad, woman!” shouted Jamie as it began to dawn on him precisely what she was planning.

Whilst Claire had used her knowledge from the future to try to avert the battle of Culloden, to prevent the bloodshed, Geillis was planning to go back and assure Charles Stuart’s victory. He knew from bitter experience that such a plan was futile and that if Geillis were to travel back through the stones she would possibly make the outcome worse for the clans who fought for the Jacobite cause. If she changed history, the consequences could be even more tragic than they had been.

Then her words, repeating in his head, made him frown.

“Again? What d’ye mean 'back' again?” demanded Jamie. Twenty years ago, he had let Claire go through the stones, both of them assuming she would return to her own time. Yet Geillis was talking of travelling back, not forward. She had hinted that this woman, who she had befriended, was from her own era, which troubled Jamie as he wondered if Claire and his bairn had ever made it to safety. “Ye’ve travelled back through the stones, aye? How d’ye ken ye’ll go back and no' to the time ye came from? Can ye control where ye go?”

“The prophecy says it’s possible,” declared Geillis confidently. “All I need tae do is focus on where and when I need tae be – that’s all it takes, as long as I prepare the right sacrifice of jewels, blood and fire. I’m ready this time.”

“That sapphire?” asked John, his eyes meeting Jamie’s in silent agreement that encouraging the madwoman to talk would buy them time. He winced and shook his head. “Is it part of the prophecy?”

“Aye, such a pretty gem.” Geillis clutched the mounted sapphire to her chest and shuddered in ecstasy as the stone appeared to burn into her flesh. “From the hoard of French gold and gems hidden on Selkie Island. Destined tae fund the Rising. I had that casket brought tae me, but there were only two sapphires in it. One was missing.”

It was then that she turned the dagger around to reveal the hilt, upon which was a carved snake’s head with two sapphires embedded as eyes.

“How did ye ken Lord John had the missing sapphire?” asked Jamie, walking closer to the centre of the stones, only taking his eyes off Geillis for however long it took to check that her men were not threatening either Fergus or Ian.

“I didna ken at first – I believed ye had it, Fraser.” Geillis pointed a long finger at him and advanced angrily. “That cost me an awful lot of time. I had tae get marrit again, damn ye. I found out ye’d been out there tae the island. So I knew ye must have taken the stone. I thought ye’d been sent to the Americas with the rest of the prisoners from Ardsmuir. I took a berth on the same damn ship, but ye weren’t on it. I thought maybe ye were dead, but I found out from yer friend Murtagh that ye’d been reserved by the prison governor as his own wee pet.”

Swearing to himself, Jamie could envisage just how Geillis would have persuaded Murtagh to share his thoughts about the erstwhile governor of Ardsmuir. The wily Scot had often referred to Jamie as the governor’s pet when he returned from dining with John at the prison. Taking a deep, calming breath, Jamie kept the woman in his sights as she moved to stand behind John once more. She slid the blade of her knife down, over John’s chest, slicing open his shirt as she did so. Jamie could see John’s breathing becoming faster and more anxious as the sharp tip hovered over the scars from previous wounds.

Watching Jamie’s reactions with interest, Geillis quicky pulled the knife away from the Englishman’s bare flesh and used it to cut open the velvet ribbon holding his hair back. She ran her hands through the loose strands, teasing them over John’s exposed collar bones.

“I made contact with loyal Jacobites who worked the land on the Helwater estate. They searched yer belongings, Jamie Fraser, and found nothing, apart from yer rosary. They watched tae see if ye ever revealed that gem or tried to sell it tae buy yer freedom. They did not, but they did see this wee redcoat visiting ye.” Pausing for effect, she dangled the sapphire in front of John’s face. “One day, after ye’d played yer wee game of chess, one of them saw what he had on his waistcoat, looking at it when he thought nae one else could see him. They also saw the jewel on his finger that he was never without and told me about both. They didna ken which was the sapphire I was looking for.”

She reached forward, grabbing hold of John’s hair to tug his head downwards, before wrenching his arms up. Then gleefully, she twisted John’s left hand to show the ring on his finger.

“Such a bonny wee ring!”

“That is no’ a sapphire from the hoard.” Jamie growled deep in his chest, watching Geillis caress the ring that held such importance to John.

“Aye, I ken that now. But even so, a sapphire worn fer sae long, given by a loved one who died a violent death-”

Jamie heard John cursing and understood his anger.

“Oh aye, yer lordship, yer cute manservant gets very chatty when plied with ale. Ye need to pay him more attention, ye ken.” Geillis chuckled as she felt John tense up. “Oh yes, this sapphire also holds powerful magic worn fer the sake of another loved one. I must admit I wasna prepared for a bloody redcoat tae have conjured up even more power in those gems. Och, I can feel it running like electricity through them.”

“What do ye need John for?” demanded Jamie, scowling at the woman. “Just take the damn sapphires and let him go! We’ll go and ye’ll never see us again.”

“Oh no, Fraser, that’s no’ enough!” Pulling John’s head back, and scraping her fingernails down his neck, Geillis seemed frustrated. “The stones will only open fer a blood sacrifice sealed by fire-”

“That’s no’ true! I have seen it – ” blurted out Jamie, before biting his lip.

“Yer wife?” Geillis stopped short, genuinely shocked. “Dear God, she did go back then?”

“My wife is none of yer concern!” murmured Jamie, annoyed with himself for letting the woman know that Claire had travelled back through the stones, but torn as he needed Geillis to let John go free. “All I ken is that nae blood is necessary – so ye can let John go.”

“Maybe not fer her,” answered Geillis, trailing fingertips over John’s chest. “But I need it! And the prophecy demands it.”

“What damn prophecy?” asked John, starting to tremble as sharp nails dug into his skin.

“The prophecy tae restore the Stuarts. Fer me make things right. I’ve read and translated the auld books,” argued Geillis.

As if the question had triggered a response from her, Geillis stepped around John and walked towards the fire. Her hair was being whipped up by a storm that seemed to be building up around her body, rising up from her bare feet until it had finally reached her head.

“It requires the sacrifice of a man marrit, but no’ to the one his heart yearns for, father to a son not his and brother-in-arms to a man he shares nae blood with.” Her voice was calmer as if reciting from a book that only she could see. “A man exiled by his own kin, but who would give his life fer one not of his blood.”

“Ye’re talking in riddles,” said Jamie, keeping a wary eye on John as he slowly rotated his shoulders, wincing slightly as he held his hands together. Jamie could see that John was working on loosening his ropes which had him quelling the urge to launch a full-on assault. Keeping an adversary talking was a tactic he had seen John use to good effect. “What does any of that nonsense have tae do with John?”

“It was dear lovesick Betty who noticed how the redcoat pined fer ye. Then, when she wrote tae tell me that he had marrit that girl, who he ne’er loved and became father to the boy he wasna father to – then I knew it had to be him.”

“Why did you not just kidnap me?” asked John. “Why take William?”

“For the stones tae open, ye had tae came willingly.” Geillis focused her attention back on John. “Yer blood and the jewels will let me travel back to a time when I can change things. I can make sure a Stuart is king once more.”

“How do ye ken fer certain he is the one that fits yer damn prophecy?” called out Jamie, worried that she had come to the end of her explanations and was about to sacrifice John before he could secure his release.

“That was easy. Scandal taints his lordship’s sordid past and there was more than enough gossip to confirm what I needed tae know. That nasty business with his stepbrother, the marriage to poor Isobel, taking on that brat who was no’ his true son.” 

Jamie laughed out loud, his guffaws startling everyone in earshot.

“Ye wee fool. That describes me just as well as it does him. Let him go free and I’ll let ye take me instead!”

“No!” shouted John.

“Ye’re no’ the one prophesied!” exclaimed Geillis, spinning around to fix Jamie in her gaze. “Ye cannae be-”

“I can be,” retorted Jamie. “In the past I have been exiled from my clan. I am marrit to a lass called Laoghaire, who I dinna love. I am father to her daughters and also tae Fergus, who is no’ my son by blood. I am brother-in-arms to John as much as he is tae me, we have fought together side by side these past few days. Yer damn prophecy fits me as well!”

“No, Jamie!” cried out John. “Please don’t-“

“John –” began Jamie, meeting the man’s eyes once more and seeing the pain there.

“Not quite,” murmured Geillis, although she was starting to waver.

“Really? Because I would give my life fer his because I love him,” announced Jamie, before turning to face Fergus. “Take William back to my sister and guard him well.”

William squirmed and kicked at Fergus. He had apparently been willing to keep still until it became apparent that he was about to be sent away.

“Let me go!” he screamed as he scratched at Fergus, who was unwilling to grab hold of the flailing boy with his hook.

“No!” yelled out William, before succeeding in wriggling free. He then ran towards John and Jamie. His two fathers.

As soon as Jamie crouched down to intercept William, he heard a cry of anguish and turned to see Geillis plunge her knife into John’s side. She twisted it and Jamie screamed out in horror as he saw John’s blood splash onto the stone behind him. As John slumped down, a red stain rapidly spreading across his shirt, Jamie’s nightmares all came back, tumbling over one another as the visions became horrific reality.

Clutching the sapphire in one hand and the dagger in the other, Geillis rushed forward towards the cleft, the buzzing from the stones becoming deafening as she drew nearer. Then, pulling his hands free from the loosened cords, John kicked out a leg, tripping the woman and as she fell he pulled her backwards. She tussled with John and kicked wildly as he put himself between her and the stones, attempting to prevent her from passing through. He wrenched the mounted sapphire from her and held onto her wrist tightly to keep the blade from piercing him again.

Seeing the stones behind John start to blur and shimmer, Jamie clasped hold of William and leapt to his feet. Running across the grass, William hanging onto his side, he heard the sound. A buzzing sound, like a swarm of bees, surrounded him as he entered the fray. He reached out with one hand to grab hold of John’s arm and tried desperately to cling onto him as he stumbled back, collapsing against the tallest of the stones, the one he had seen Claire pass through. John’s shoulder seemed to be melting into the surface of it. Howling in pain, demanding strength from the very air, as he would in battle, Jamie focused, subconsciously on what he wanted most: for John to be made whole again, for Geillis to be dead and for them to live their lives in peace.

From where Jamie had roughly shoved Geillis aside, she furiously launched herself at the two men, screeching like a banshee, her dagger swiping at them dangerously. From behind her Jamie could make out a slight figure running towards them, a sabre raised high, singing as it cut through the air. A sabre wielded with all the force the bearer of the weapon could muster. The steel blade, sharpened with the juice of forget-me-nots, sliced the head clean off the shoulders of Geillis and then embedded itself above them in the tallest of the standing stones. 

“She’s deid! Uncle Jamie! She’s deid!” the voice of young Ian echoed triumphantly around the ring of stones and then faded away.

The tall rowan trees bent over them, the graceful branches seeming to sweep down to lift them upwards only to fling them through the firmament of stars glittering above the smoke.

Falling into a void, Jamie kept tight hold of both his son and the man he loved.

 _Falling_.

 _Falling_.

Then into daylight – broad daylight.

“Papa? Please papa, what’s the matter?” sobbed William, clawing at John’s blood-soaked shirt.

“Oh no – A Dhia, please no,” wept Jamie, pressing a kiss to John’s lips as if he could rouse him with the pure force of his love.

Jamie reached down to press his hand against the wound, that was still bleeding freely. He could feel the pulse in each flow of blood. _John was dying_. That’s all he could think of.

Pressing his lips to John’s again, tears dripping from his face, Jamie was unaware of the sounds around him. Even William’s anguished cries fell on deaf ears.

Until a voice called out.

A strident, familiar voice.

One he never thought he would hear again.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! What the bloody hell have you done?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that any medical procedures described are not going to be entirely accurate - but I have made educated guesses as to how they may have been done in the past. As with so much here, there's artisitic licence used in all sorts of details!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

** Chapter 19 **

**20 March 1967**

The tailgate of the old Morris Minor rattled as I applied the brakes and swung around onto the track that wound its way up the flank of the hill. From the main road the cliffs appeared as impassable as they had every other time I had been there. It was only on the southwestern side that the slope was gentler. The track was wider than it had been, forestry trucks accessing the new pine plantations had been responsible for that and I was grateful for the easier ascent.

I was also extremely grateful to Reverend Wakefield for the loan of his car. I was surprised dear Reggie was still driving at all; his eyesight – perfect for studying the finest print on the oldest of documents – was not adequate for negotiating the narrow lanes that led beyond the centre of Inverness. Even though the town had grown larger over time, the surrounding area was virtually unchanged since the 1940’s; I could have sworn the potholes in the roads were the same as the ones Frank had swerved around when we had made that fateful journey north.

Although I had asked Reggie to book me in at the Craigh na Dun bed and breakfast, the dear man had insisted I stay at the Manse. I had to admit I was glad to have access to a private phone for calling Brianna in Boston. The prospect of trying to make international phone calls from a public call box did not bear thinking about. 

When we had last spoken, Bree assured me that she was not entertaining hordes of teenagers at the house, that she was eating her greens and that she was persevering with the history classes as agreed. I imagined that only the latter was true, she knew full well that I was not going to allow her to change course unless she had completed the full year. She had grown up so much since Frank’s death– literally and emotionally. Every day she reminded me more and more of her true father, from the cascading tresses of auburn curls, to the blue eyes that had that slight slant to them whenever something wicked crossed her mind. And then there was her height. She assured me that the shortness of her skirts was more to do with the length of her legs than the paucity of fabric. I could only imagine the outrage that Jamie would have felt if he had seen his daughter wearing a plaid skirt that barely covered her modesty, accessorised by white fishnet tights and the knee-high white boots. The face I could picture so vividly had me welling up with tears, so much so that I had to take one hand off the wheel to scrub at my face so I could see clearly.

The plan was to bring her with me in a year’s time and tell her the truth about her heritage. In the meantime, she was under the impression that her grieving mother had decided to buy and set up a holiday cottage in the same area where I had honeymooned with the man she called her father. The fact that my motives were more to do with feeling closer to her real father than to the man who had brought her up did not cause me to lose sleep – well not out of guilt anyway.

The purchase of the cot house had not been difficult, no one else had put a closed bid in of any consequence and my offer was more than generous. The owners of the land had been relieved to sell off both the land and the shell of a cottage, especially as there were no local takers for a property situated on a haunted ‘faerie dun’. What had proved exasperating had been dealing long distance with contractors to restore the place and make it habitable as a retreat. I had accepted that there would be no way to get electricity or a phone line to the building and that a cistern of collected rainwater would have to suffice to flush the toilet and that a septic tank would have to be installed. Freshwater was available from the stream to one side of the property although I was not prepared to risk using it without boiling it first, even though I had coped well enough in the eighteenth century without the benefit of chlorinated drinking water.

The final bend of the track required high revs and a low gear to keep traction and forward momentum. Every time I had been to inspect progress and install more personal effects, I had got better at making it all the way up without stalling and sliding back down the gravel drive. Gritting my teeth, I kept an even pressure on the accelerator and made it successfully into the small parking space next to an outbuilding stacked with firewood. Pulling on the hand brake and leaving the car parked in gear to prevent it rolling back down the hill I switched off the engine, leaned on the steering wheel and took a good look at the cot house. Four walls that held such memories for me.

It blended into the hillside as naturally as it always had, the natural stone the builders had sourced from a local quarry and the roof tiles maintained the impression the cot house was part of the landscape. Shutting my eyes, I could still see it as it had been all those years ago, the door hanging off its hinges, the roof only partly intact and the windows shuttered against the elements. What had been retained were the thick walls to keep the heat in and the cold out – Jamie would have approved.

Looking over my shoulder I groaned inwardly as I caught sight of the jumble of boxes containing a plethora of books, kitchenware, and miscellaneous sundries that Reggie’s housekeeper, Fiona, had stashed into the back of the car when I had not been paying attention. No wonder she had smiled sweetly as she had carefully placed the Tupperware box of cheese and pickle sandwiches and a thermos flask of strong, sweet tea into the modest box of groceries that I had packed. Bloody woman had tried to read my tea leaves just like her grandmother before had, only to be horrified to find out that I had used one of the teabags from the box of PG Tips I had bought. Chuckling to myself I pulled out the rucksack, into which I had packed my own portable field hospital – an augmented first aid kit that would spare me any trips to the infirmary where I had been taken on my return through the stones in 1948. I would rather set my own broken limbs than enter that bloody place ever again.

After hoisting the rucksack onto my back, I grabbed the box of groceries from the passenger seat and braced myself to enter the cot house, with every intention of staying there for at least a week. Although I had dropped off soft furnishings, such as rugs, blankets, sheets, and pillows, I had not stayed there since April 1746. The night before the battle of Culloden.

Wiping another tear from my eye prompted by the memory, I turned the key in the lock, and pushed open the door to reveal the cosy front room. Close to the fireplace I had placed a sofa, exactly where there had once been an old settle upon which Jamie had sat with me curled in his lap the evening we had ridden to the stones from Cranesmuir. The night after Jamie had flung a rosary over my head to prove that I was not in league with the devil. 

That night had been the moment I had chosen one husband over another, Jamie over Frank. 

Turning my back on both the memories invoked and the overstuffed, vintage sofa, I headed for the kitchenette. From the alcove at one end, I could feel the heat being emitted from the cream-coloured AGA. I set the box of foodstuffs down on the small kitchen table and grabbed an oven mitt so I could open the firebox and add a couple more logs to make sure it did not go out before nightfall. The restored AGA was an indulgence, but it would warm the cottage, provide a range to cook on and hot water.

Unpacking the box of provisions, I put the cheese and loaf of bread on the stone shelf in the pantry to be kept cool and then stacked the random assortment of canned foods on a shelf, along with several packets of biscuits, Jacobs cream crackers and a box of PG Tips tea bags. The last box I had brought over contained a kettle, saucepans, miscellaneous cutlery, a few items of crockery and a can opener. I would not starve overnight, that was for sure.

Standing in the centre of the cottage I turned around to survey my tiny domain, already more homely that the huge house in Boston had ever felt. A door at the back led to the small bathroom that I had insisted had access from inside the cottage – that had caused a few raised eyebrows. Although the small bathtub was not much bigger than the hipbath the original occupants may have used, it had the luxury of running hot water. In place of the original staircase that had long since succumbed to woodworm and rot, there was an open tread set of stairs that led to the two bedrooms – one of which I had decorated with Bree in mind – even down to the framed picture of her sixteenth birthday celebrations. The photo included me and Frank behind her, all of us smiling, some happier than others. I wanted to make sure that when she did come to stay that she knew I acknowledged the affection she had for the man who had raised her and was not intending for her to let go of all her happy memories of him.

Taking one more look around to make sure there was nothing else I would need to fetch in from the car in order to stay in the cottage overnight, I decided that I could put it off no longer. I had stood by the pathway that led uphill every time I had stopped by, knowing they were there, the stones, waiting for me, but had been too afraid to venture beyond the straggly pines and oaks on the lower slopes. Although I had fully intended to wait until the following day, there was a niggling urgency beckoning me. I did not even need to stop to change my clothes as I was already wearing a thick sweater and corduroy slacks as well as my hiking boots. Without a second thought I grabbed the rucksack and made sure it contained everything I would need – first aid kit, hip flask of whisky, flashlight, and penknife. With a shrug, I added the thermos flask of tea and the sandwiches that Reggie’s housekeeper had made for me. Just as I was about to set off, I turned back and, on impulse, added a packet of chocolate biscuits as well.

There were no clouds in the sky and the breeze was brisk but not too chilly, so I left the anorak on the hook by the door, locked up and set off. The walk up the hill from the cot house was more strenuous than I recalled. Fortunately, the soles of my new boots gripped the loose scree as well as I could have hoped and I set off, breathing in the fresh scent from the pine trees that clung to the rocky outcrops. Every now and then, I stooped down to pick up handfuls of pinecones to tuck into a cloth bag I had brought along, knowing they would make excellent kindling for the open fire.

Ever since I had returned in 1948, that cryptic message from Geillis Duncan kept coming back to haunt me. When Dougal had first told me, my sole focus had been on getting Jamie out of Wentworth Gaol, but after the man’s death at Jamie’s hand, and our subsequent flight, the words preyed on my mind. Geillis had given Dougal four numbers – one, nine, six and seven, although there were occasions when I questioned my own memory and wondered if it had been an eight and not a seven he had said. Either way, it had to be a year – perhaps 1967, maybe 1968. Was that the year she had gone through the stones or the year she was intending to return to? Had she escaped being burnt at the stake for witchcraft? 

_‘I think it is possible, but I do not know.’_

I had to believe that she was referring to travelling through the stones. It was as if they were a portal and on the other side was a life I was missing.

As I emerged onto the treeless flank of the hill, just below the summit, I heard an unearthly scream that put me in mind of the sound I had once heard from the stones. I had stood there before and heard the cry of rock being torn asunder at a molecular level. I stopped in my tracks, my heart beating faster, and not just because of the steep gradient.

Another sound, definitely human, rang out – the heart wrenching sound of a child screaming. I could not be certain whether the cries were of pain or fear, but the mother in me alongside the doctor had me cast aside any contemplation of enigmatic messages. The only thing that mattered was getting to the site of the emergency, whatever it was.

Taking a deep breath, I made a dash for the top and just as I reached the first of the trembling rowan trees, planted as guardians against evil by all accounts, came into sight a vision I could never have prepared myself for. I froze to the spot. A buzzing that obscured all other sounds, seemed to drill into my head, making me feel as if I were about to pass out. Before my knees gave way, I grabbed hold of the nearest tree trunk and held onto it as if my life depended on its support. I could have sworn that my heart skipped a beat and then hurtled from my chest into my mouth.

_Jamie Fraser._

Over the years I had imagined seeing him so many times. Out of the corner of my eye, he would be watching me only to fade away the moment I tried to seek him out. But this time he was completely unaware of my presence. Hunching over something on the ground, his head was tilted forward, russet curls had escaped the confines of a braid to fall across his face.

Waiting, motionless, to see if this was just an apparition conjured up by the damn fairy hill to taunt me, I watched as Jamie ran his hands over a figure lying at his feet. Tearing my eyes from Jamie for a moment I could see that he was staring at a figure wearing a long white shirt, untucked, and stained with blood. At Jamie’s side sat a child, apparently uninjured but evidently very upset by whatever had befallen the other person. At first I thought that perhaps it was the mother of the child, long dark hair obscured their features, however, as Jamie turned to comfort the child I could see the shirt had fallen open to reveal a distinctly masculine chest. The man’s hair was long, too long for this decade, even with the change in fashions. He must have come through time with Jamie. Then I saw the knife in Jamie’s hand. _Dear God – had he attacked the man?_

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ. What the bloody hell have you done?”

Jamie’s head snapped up and our eyes met. His face blanched in shock, his mouth opened and closed as if he were unable to speak. His hands, face and waistcoat were all smeared with blood.

I could not recall who moved first, but before I knew it, Jamie was on his feet and running towards me, his arms outstretched to gather me up in an all-encompassing embrace that surrounded me in a way no one else had ever been able to match. Crushing me to his chest I felt the air rush out of my lungs. I could hear his heart thumping in his chest- so fast. Then clasping me to him, he faltered in the Gaelic professions of love and disbelief, or whatever else he was muttering over and over.

“I cannae believe it’s ye, Claire. _Mo nighean donn._ Tell me it’s true.” Jamie looked how I felt, scared to believe it could possibly be true.

“ _Fuil m fhala agus Cràimhmo dràmha,_ ” he murmured. _Blood of my blood, bone of my bone_. Words I had not heard uttered for decades yet seemed to be part of me. I took his hand and turned it over to reveal the pale scar in the shape of the letter C and showed him the J on my own hand.

Grinning like a madman, he ran his hands over my arms and sides, as I pressed my own hands to his chest, both of us still checking to make sure the other was whole.

“I don’t know how, but it is. Bloody hell, you’re here!” I could barely put a sentence together. The scents of leather, spirits and pine surrounded me, and I had never felt so much at home as that moment. Tears ran down my face with joy – I had never imagined that he would come through.

Despite that picture on the bloody wanted poster, the image and description fitting Jamie so perfectly, I had not dared to believe that it had been him. Going through some of Frank’s possessions I found it, folded into four and tucked into the back of a book on the Jacobite Risings. _What if it had been Jamie, there in Inverness? Was that the reason I was pulled through to encounter him that day?_ It had been Samhain then – a time when ghosts may wander freely amongst the living. Frank believed he had seen a ghost that evening, yet after I had disappeared he reported the man to the police as a person of interest worthy of a £1000 reward.

I shook my head to dislodge the meandering thoughts that dwelt on the past, to grab hold of the present – the gift in my arms of a very tangible man whose arms were holding me tight to him. It was then that I noticed that he was not wearing his plaid – but a coat of a plain broadcloth under a thick woollen travelling cloak. The buttons of the waistcoat barely held the fabric across his chest – as if it were a borrowed item of clothing and not one of his own. I wanted to ask how old he was, how long we had been apart. _Was it twenty years for him too?_

“I thought you couldn’t pass through the stones,” was all I could muster. “I thought you were dead.”

“Nae, I couldna pass through after Cranesmuir as there was nothing calling me. This time, I had tae come,” he said, gazing at me as if I were a glass of cold water in a desert. “I was thinking of ye Claire, _mo leannan._ I needed ye.”

As I reached out to stroke his cheek, he frowned and seemed confused as if his words had only just occurred to him. I attributed that to the shock of finding himself on the other side of time. Placing a hand on either side of his face I tilted my head and leaned closer, opening my mouth to his as our lips met in a kiss that had been placed on hold for over twenty years. So lost were we in each other’s arms, that it took a short while to acknowledge the urgent beating of small fists upon our legs. The thumping seeming to echo that of our hearts.

“Please, Mac – please! You’ve got to help papa.” Through the haze that seemed to surround us, the pleading voice of the small child permeated. Jamie tensed up abruptly as the child begged: “Da! Please, papa needs you!”

Blinking, I looked down at the child, seeing him properly for the first time – the blue eyes, set at a slight slant, were red-rimmed and his ruddy cheeks had tear trails criss-crossing through a layer of grime. Although the dirty, ripped clothing and scruffy hair made him look like a street urchin, his voice indicated that not only was he English, but also a well-bred child from a privileged background. Then he took a breath, held it and then expelled it noisily through his nose – a Fraser characteristic if ever I had seen one. That coupled with the thick curly locks, a tinge of copper in the sunlight and the set of his head upon his shoulders reminded me of one person – no, not one, two! Both Jamie and our daughter, Brianna. This child was unmistakably fathered by Jamie Fraser. Yet, why had he referred to the other man as ‘ _papa’_?

Jamie crouched down to speak quietly to the child. One glance across at the figure lying motionless on the ground had my training as a doctor cut in. Regardless of the circumstances, I had a patient to triage. 

“Did you attack that man?” I asked, stooping down to pick up my rucksack that I had not recalled letting fall to the ground.

“What? Nae – I would never!” Jamie seemed horrified at what I thought was a logical deduction. “A Dhia, I wouldna hurt this man, no’ if my life depended on it.”

“Da?” pleaded the small child, reaching out to tug at Jamie’s hand, pulling him back towards his ‘papa’. “Please. He was asking for you.”

Moving away from me, Jamie picked the boy up in his arms and ran back to the injured man.

“ _Ifrinn_ ,” muttered Jamie, as he fell to his knees at the man’s side. “John? Can ye hear me, man. Please, speak tae me. William is here, he’s safe. That bitch is deid – come on. John? Dinna leave us, John.”

I quickly re-evaluated my assumptions. Obviously, Jamie had not inflicted the wound. And what was more surprising, the bleeding man meant something to him. Pulling open the rucksack and dragging out the canvas bag containing my first aid kit, I looked up as the man gasped out loud, his chest arching upwards with the effort of trying to draw breath. Although going through the stones did take a person’s breath away, this man was starting to panic as he struggled to take air into his lungs.

“What is it John?” asked Jamie as he clasped a limp, blood-stained hand in his and stroked hair from the man’s face. “Dinna fash – ye’re going to be alright. William needs his papa – dinna let the lad down, not now, no’ after all ye’ve gone through. I need-”

“I’m… if … know that I …” I could just about make out the man’s words between gasps. He was barely managing to get one word out on each shallow exhalation. I was torn between needing him to calm down and finding out as much as I could about his injuries. 

“I ken, John, there’s nae need tae say it,” murmured Jamie, gently running his fingers through the loose strands of hair, moving them out of the man’s face, away from his nose and mouth. “Ye ken that I – I feel the same, aye?”

The last thing I had imagined I would ever hear coming from the lips of Jamie Fraser. I wondered if I was reading too much into the unspoken words, but it had sounded very much like a mutual declaration of love. A sidelong glance that caught the way their eyes met disavowed me of any notion that I was imagining things.

Brusquely, I moved Jamie aside in order to commence the standard checks on assessing a casualty.

“Who the hell is he?” I asked bluntly, while checking the man’s pulse. It did not surprise me that it was thready and tachycardic. The faint purple tinge to his lips also indicated mild hypoxia.

“He is …,” Jamie paused to swallow, hard. “This is John Grey… he’s a particularly good friend tae me. My dearest friend. Ye must save him… _mo chridhe_.”

I looked up sharply, wondering if his endearment referred to me or to his ‘dearest friend’, John Grey. The way he was holding Grey’s hand and gazing at him so intently suggested that the balance was leaning in favour of the stranger.

Taking the stethoscope from my bag, I listened to Grey’s chest – which was easy as his shirt had at some point been cut away. Judging by the network of scars upon his chest, he had evidently been in the wars, so was probably a soldier. The crude stitching had made a horrible mess of raised ridges and pits left behind as souvenirs of horrendously large needles. The stained linen of the shirt was stuck to the wound, and I was anxious not to dislodge any initial clots that had formed. From the damage to the shirt, I could tell there had been an incision of approximately one inch in diameter – not quite circular and too large to be from a musket ball. So not shot. The edges were frayed as if – yes, a knife that had been twisted. No wonder the man was groaning in agony. Fortune would have it that it was on the opposite side to his liver and higher up – sliding below the ribs, although damage to the spleen was not out of the question.

The gasps for breath indicated a real possibility that he had suffered a collapsed lung. Pneumothorax or haemothorax were the two possibilities fighting for attention in my head. I was grateful that my augmented first aid kit contained the necessary items to treat either condition.

“Jamie,” I snapped, getting his attention. Tearing open a package containing a sterilised wound dressing, I held the lint bandage on top of the fabric at the site of the wound and firmly placed Jamie’s free hand on top of it. “I need you to keep the pressure on that wound. I take it that it was caused by a blade and not a musket ball?”

“Aye, a nasty wee dirk, one with a wavy blade. That bitch twisted it…”

“Dear God, who – ” I frowned, my mind racing as I could think of only one woman capable of such a vicious assault. I wanted to ask if she was in the vicinity, but there were other matters that demanded my attention first. “Never mind, that will wait. For now, we need to stabilise your ‘friend’.”

I muttered to myself as I always did when working through symptoms and probable diagnoses. Not aware of the fact that Jamie was following every word.

“ _Tachycardia_ – swift heart? That’s no’ good, is it?”

If I had been thinking clearer, I would have recalled Jamie’s familiarity with ancient Greek texts – he would be more adept at interpreting medical terminology than the average man on the street in the 1960’s.

Grey’s skin was pale, and although I suspected that was his natural complexion, the blue tinge to the edges of his full lips was becoming more distinct and his pained eyes spoke of fear and panic.

“It’s going to be alright, John.” I soothed my patient, patting the hand not held by Jamie, the one that was clenched in a fist. “I want you to try to take a slow breath for me and stop when it becomes too painful.”

It was almost instantaneous, he had only just started to inhale, his ribcage barely expanding as he gasped in agony and tears spilt down his cheeks.

“I want you to blink once if it is just on the side where you were stabbed. Twice if it is both sides.”

The single blink lent credence to my initial diagnosis. Tapping on his chest and listening carefully to the sounds of indicated hyper-resonance, seeming to confirm that it was a pneumothorax. Despite my preference for having this confirmed by x-ray, it was out of the question. I had to act fast to save the man’s life.

“This will appear rather alarming I’m afraid, but you must trust me.” I whispered to Jamie as I sorted out the equipment I needed to drain the pleural cavity. Either a needle aspiration or perhaps a crude chest drain could be carried out in an emergency.

“Always, _mo leannan_. I’d no’ trust anyone else wi’ his care.”

“Good – I need you to sit behind him and pull him up against your chest. That should allow any trapped air to move towards the upper quadrant.”

The willingness with which Jamie shuffled around and pulled Grey into his arms was yet another indication that this was more than a good friend whose life was in my hands. _Had this been the reason I had felt compelled to take the walk to the stones that day and not the next?_ If I had waited until the following day, I would probably have found Jamie, and the child, but this man may have died in the meantime. I did not want to dwell on a mean-spirited impulse that made me pause long enough to consider how things would have been different if that had been the case. 

Meanwhile, as I searched out the large bore needle and wondered whether a piece of tubing would be better, I looked at the boy whose eyes were widening in horror as he watched me sorting through the canvas bag that held all manner of, what would be to him, unfamiliar devices.

“What is your name?” I asked. “I’m Claire.”

“William,” came the answer as the child snuffled.

“Alright, William, I want you to go and sit by the trees over -” I started to say, only to be interrupted by a fierce rebuttal from said child.

“I’m staying here,” he declared, stubbornly, clinging on tightly to Grey’s leg. “You can’t make me go. I’m not leaving my papa.”

“Alright, you may stay.” I agreed, having taken one look at the child’s expression, and detecting Fraser obstinacy in the set of his shoulders. “I want you to keep hold of your papa’s leg, so he knows you’re there. But you mustn’t let go or move from there – do you understand?”

“Yes, madam,” came the curt reply, accompanied by a solemn nod of the head.

“Alright, I need you to listen to me, John.” I poked a finger into the hollow beneath his collarbone to check that he was still conscious and aware. His eyes sprung open to show he was still capable of hearing what I had to say. “This is going to hurt, but it will help you breathe properly. Do you understand?”

The man’s eyes slowly focused on me, the irises a pale blue, like the forget-me-nots that grew all around the stones of Craigh na Dun. They crinkled at the corners as he made a failed attempt to smile. They were kind eyes. It occurred to me that he was exempting me from blame should the procedure fail, even more so when I thought I heard him whisper ‘Thank you, Mistress Fraser’. But perhaps it had been nothing more than a laboured exhalation.

“You have what is called a pneumothorax. The stab wound has allowed air to enter your pleural cavity, and it is accumulating around your lung, making it difficult for you to breathe,” I explained clearly for the benefit of both my patient and Jamie, who looked just as much in need of reassuring. “I need to get that air out so that the lung can inflate properly. You’re going to be alright, don’t worry. Try to keep as still as you possibly can.”

I kept the fine print to myself – Grey would be alright as long as there was no significant damage to any blood vessels and that no blood clots subsequently developed inside the lung tissue. There were a host of reasons why patients treated for gunshot or stab wounds to the chest failed to survive. I had no intention of discussing those with either man, and certainly not in front of the child whose arms were tightly wrapped around Grey’s lower leg as if expecting someone to attempt forcibly dragging him away. 

The bottle of Dettol antiseptic was heavy, but I was glad to have packed it. I tipped some out onto a ball of cotton wool and swabbed the area where I intended to cut.

Trying not to be put off by the astonished looks I was receiving from the three sets of blue eyes fixed on my every movement, I opened the sealed foil wrapper of a fresh scalpel blade and carefully slid it onto the scalpel handle. I then took the thin rubber tubing and used the scalpel to cut off a suitable length. I wiped the end of the tubing with the antiseptic as well.

Grey was leaning heavily against Jamie, who was still diligently keeping pressure on the wound to his side. Grey’s eyes were closed again, which was just as well as I made the incision into the second intercostal space. A trickle of watery blood indicated that I had successfully cut through the muscle and the external pleural membrane. Pressing the blade to one side to hold open the incision, I slid the tubing in with my fingers, knowing how uncomfortable that would be to Grey, who unsurprisingly began to shake as the tube was being pushed between his ribs and through muscle tissue.

“Just hold still please - Jamie, can you do something to keep him calm?”

Grey was struggling to resist the invasive procedure and Jamie wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him still. The look on Jamie’s face troubled me – had he changed so much in the intervening years that the sight of blood would cause him so much anguish? Or was it the fact that my patient was in so much distress? I shook my head, not wanting to contemplate whatever that implied.

“Hush there, John, trust her. Ye’re in good hands, _mo leannan_ , ye’ll be fine. Hush there.” Jamie took hold of Grey’s clenched hand and raised it to his lips. As he did so, Grey’s fingers relaxed to reveal a neatly stitched piece of red leather, embroidered with gold thread and upon which was set a stunning blue stone that had to be a sapphire.

“Take… it…” mumbled John, biting out the words. “It’s … yours…”

He then passed out, which made my task easier, even though it seemed to terrify Jamie.

“John! _A Dhia_.”

“It’s alright, Jamie, try not to scare William.” I murmured while pointedly looking in the direction of the frightened boy. “He’s just fainted. A combination of pain, blood loss and a collapsed lung, all on top of travelling through the stones if my suspicions are correct. No wonder he’s lost consciousness. At least this way I can complete this procedure without causing him any further discomfort.”

I pushed the rubber tubing in and sighed with relief as a mixture of air and bloody fluid began to flow from the open end of the tube.

“Good – that may take a while.” I used scissors to cut a length of elastic adhesive bandage from a wide roll to wrap around the site where the tube went into his upper chest, sealing it tight to prevent any more air entering. “When it slows down, you’ll have to carry him down to the cottage.”

“I thought ye always said bleeding a man was the wrong thing tae do?” asked Jamie sounding confused as he watched in horror as blood drained from Grey’s chest.

“This is about releasing the air that is building up around his lung. The procedure will allow him to breathe freely once more. It looks worse than it is – truly. He will recover.”

“ _Taing do Dhia._ Willie – d’ye hear that?” Jamie held out an arm and the child darted forward and accepted a hug. “Yer papa is going to be alright.”

Pressing a kiss to the top of the child’s head, Jamie pulled him close, letting the child cry messily onto his cloak. Both father and son were weeping openly, over a man the boy called his ‘papa’ and Jamie referred to as a ‘dear friend’. I could only shake my head and wonder what the hell had happened to him in the time we had been apart.

Needing a moment to speak with Jamie without the child listening in, I pulled the box of sandwiches from the rucksack, then changing my mind, grabbed hold of the packet of biscuits. I patted the boy’s head and asked if he was hungry. Biting his lip, he nodded quickly. I then opened the packet of chocolate biscuits, pushed them into his eager hands and told him to go and eat them under a tree while I made sure his ‘papa’ was stable.

As soon as William was busy cramming a chocolate digestive into his mouth, I tugged at Jamie’s elbow and had him lean closer to me as I asked the question that was tormenting me.

“Just who the hell are these people? Why does that child look like you and sound like him?” I pointed at my unconscious patient whose head was nestled on Jamie’s chest. “Why is it that William calls him ‘papa’ and you ‘da’? What the bloody hell is going on, Jamie?”

“The bairn is my son. William only just found out that I am his father.” Jamie paused briefly to smile fondly at the child whose fingers and mouth were smeared with melted chocolate. “He was orphaned as a babe and raised by his aunt, Isobel. John was made the child’s guardian by his grandparents. John is marrit tae Isobel.”

I narrowed my eyes at Jamie, and he could see that I was well aware of the number of gaps in his account.

“So, he is your child’s stepfather?”

“Aye.”

“You seem very … close.”

“William was kidnapped and held tae ransom. John came to me to help rescue the lad.” Jamie shrugged as if that were explanation enough. He had obviously forgotten my requirement for details.

“That does not explain what I saw. When I set eyes on you.” Then it came to me, what I had been witnessing. Jamie had been leaning low over the man’s face, not to check to see if he was alive. “For fuck’s sake, Jamie, you were kissing him!”

“Sassenach!” growled Jamie, in that tone that meant he was not prepared to discuss an issue any further.

“I don’t believe this – what the hell happened to you?”

“Not now,” stated Jamie firmly. “I’ll answer any questions ye have – but we should get away from here.”

“Damn you, you bloody bastard,” I hissed angrily. Furious at what I was not being told, yet frustrated because he was right in that it was neither the time nor the place for that discussion. “You’re right – apart from anything else, I’ll need to stitch and dress that stab wound.”

“Ye’ll still look after him?” Jamie seemed concerned that I would refuse to treat the man he had not denied kissing.

“I’m still who I was. I have not changed.” If there was a note of accusation in my voice it was deliberate. “I will not leave an injured man untreated. But we need to get back to the house. You can carry him there and then, when I’m done, you can explain what the hell brought you here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark, yet the curly-haired head resting on his flank was as familiar as the scent of the child. William. It had not been a dream – they had found him. The boy was safe. His chest hurt and there was a sharp pain lower down as he moved to one side. Tentatively running his hand over his chest, he could feel bandages of some sort apparently stuck fast to the place where the blade had penetrated his side and also near his collar bone. His shirt had gone, but he was still wearing breeches. He was covered by a sheet and blankets, while a knitted blanket had been tucked around William, who was curled up on top of the other bedding.

_Jamie? Where was Jamie?_

Frowning to himself, he cast his eyes around the moonlit room as they became accustomed to the darkness. He was alone with William.

He could feel the boy stirring and carefully rolled his son over onto his other side, making sure not to wake him. He cautiously slipped out of the bed, wincing as his chest hurt with the exertion. The floorboards were warm beneath his feet, which were bare. Someone had partly undressed him.

There was light spilling from the gaps between the door and the doorframe.

He sighed in relief thinking that Jamie was probably still awake in the lit room beyond that door. Walking slowly towards the door, he smiled to himself. He would surprise Jamie.

Carefully opening the door, he pulled it towards him and glanced out, spotting a staircase leading downwards. The sounds of Jamie snoring and the crackle of a smouldering log fire made him relax. Sounds that had become all too familiar to him over the past several days. All was well, Jamie was close by. Still.

Taking a few steps further downwards, Jamie’s back came into view, crisscrossed with scars. He was naked. Lying on a sheepskin rug, glowing in the light of several candles as well as the deep red embers in the fireplace. An Adonis. Wrapped around a naked woman. Her long dark curls stark against the pale wool. Jamie’s Aphrodite.

John staggered back up the stairs, his breath taken from him once more. Stumbling across the threshold, out of the light and back into the darkness, he shut the door behind him. The click of the latch roused William who sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Are you alright, papa?” asked William.

John slumped down, his back to the door.

“Papa? Where does it hurt?”

John, unable to speak, just pressed the palm of his hand to his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All will be resolved in the final chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

** Chapter 20 **

_Carrying John’s body into the cot house, Jamie had experienced the sensation of walking over his own grave. Only the previous day had he walked past the ruins of the very same building. To be following Claire into the very building where they had lain together the night before Culloden made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck._

_Settling John’s limp body on the bed, he failed to notice the picture on the wall. Claire had left briefly to tend to William, returning soon after with a bowl of water and her canvas bag. His focus had been on her hands as she soaked the fabric and the bandage stuck to John’s side. She had asked him to remove the blood-stained shirt. He recalled holding his breath as Claire stitched John’s wounds and applied dressings to them. She had then told him where to find blankets and had gone to check on William. Once he had carefully tucked the soft woollen blankets around John, whispered a prayer for healing and kissed him on the forehead, he had joined Claire to check on William._

_His son was sat in front of a log fire that smelt of pine and damp wood. He was eating a bowl of soup, his lips and chin both stained red. Cream of tomato, Claire had said to his horror, but she assured him it was not toxic. She had taken William to a room with a bathtub to clean him up. Nervous about the conversation he could feel hanging over him, Jamie had set about building up the fire. When Claire brought his son back in, the boy was considerably cleaner and dressed in a cotton shirt of some sort. He recalled sharing a fond smile with Claire as they had watched the boy yawning sleepily, clutching his carved wooden snake in one hand. As she passed him a colourful crochet blanket she had suggested that he put the child to bed alongside his papa._

_That was when he had seen the picture._

_After ruffling the clean, damp hair of his son’s head, tears of relief welling up in his eyes, he had turned around and then seen it on the wall._

_Claire and what must have been their daughter._

_The girl bore a likeness that could only have come from them both. His joy at seeing the image – an answer to all those prayers he had made beseeching God for the safety of his wife and child – was short-lived when his eyes fell on the face of the man standing behind the girl. He felt his wame clench and twist, he tasted bile rising up his throat._

_The face of Captain Jonathon Randall, casting a possessive gaze over **his** daughter. He would have smashed something in rage had it not been for William’s sleepy gaze and furrowed forehead._

_“Dinna fash, mo leannan,” he had whispered to William, before checking that his stifled grunt had not roused John. “Go to sleep, mo ghille. Keep yer papa safe fer me will ye?”_

_Once he had seen William curl up close to John, he had taken the picture down from the nail in the wall. His heart had been beating erratically in his chest and the walls of the small room had seemed to be closing in around him._

_He did not recall how he got to the bottom of the stairs, but he could still see Claire’s face as she stood by the door, waiting for him. He had not seen her for twenty years, but that look had been unmistakable. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her chin raised, her eyes flashing. The look she bore when she was barely keeping a hold of her anger and wanted answers. That had made two of them._

_Meeting Claire’s narrowed eyes with a matching glare, he had taken her by the hand and dragged her to the door and out into the night. Fortunately, Claire had been as keen to take the discussion away from the house as he had been and they had trudged their way wordlessly into the woods. Then, before she had the chance to utter a single word, he had thrust the picture into her face._

_The picture had been the catalyst for a row that summoned memories of arguments they had had before._

_They had raged at each other– questions, accusations, crying, beating – her fists against his chest, his words against her ears, angry and hurtful. He had snatched up her right hand and demanded to know why she still wore Frank’s ring. The husband she had returned to. The man whose existence had meant so much to her that she had begged him not to take the life of Captain Randall. She had never thought to mention that he looked like the twin of Black Jack Randall. In the picture he wore the same expression on his face as Jack Randall had when he had tried to possess Jamie in Wentworth Gaol._

_Jamie had cursed her – demanding to know how the hell she could have let his daughter be raised by a man that looked like that bastard. She had in turn railed at him, telling him that not only was the man dead but that he had never replaced Jamie’s place in her heart or in her bed. She had shouted at him wanting to know how the hell he had allowed himself to become so intimate with a man, an English soldier she had assumed from his accent and collection of scars._

_As with all their previous rows, they ended up in each other’s arms, trading kisses that bruised before rutting like any other animal in the woods in a pile of leaf litter. They had not been the only couple copulating in the woods that night – it was a solstice after all, and despite the chill in the air, the sounds of groans as flesh slapped against flesh carried in the dense, smoke-filled air._

_Their rage vented, they had returned to the cottage, leaf litter in their hair and clothes in total disarray. It had been mutually agreed that a discussion of what had happened to each of them over the course of twenty years separation would be facilitated better with the aid of whisky._

_Although the whisky helped, it had been clear, with each revelation, that a gulf had opened up between them, separating them just as effectively as a barrier of two centuries in time, even though they had been in each other’s arms. Their love was as strong as ever, but it was evident that they could not continue from where they had left off on the eve of the battle of Culloden. Too much had changed and they were no longer the same as they had been._

_As they had that fateful night in April 1746, they made love as if it would be the last time. After removing each other’s clothes, they had tumbled from the overstuffed piece of furniture onto the sheepskin rugs in front of the fire. Jamie had taken Claire then, after gently sliding his hand between her legs – her softness yielding as he pressed into her._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A thud from the room above his head brought Jamie to sudden alertness.

Eyes darting from side to side, the flickering candlelight illuminated the debris on the floor surrounding him: an empty whisky bottle, feathers from a pillow that had proved less durable than it looked, and items of clothing strewn across the floor, including the remnants of the bizarre contraption that he had been unable to release Claire’s breasts from without tearing the bloody thing in half.

The shattered frame and glass of that damned picture.

Flinging his arm over his eyes to block out the light, Jamie scrunched up his eyes recalling everything that had transpired the previous day. With a sigh he cringed, his whisky-addled brain taunting him with perfect recall.

The bare foot draped possessively across his ankle held him in place, as did the scent of the woman he had loved so much. Despite a yearning to check to see that John was alright, he was unable to move.

Lying there, feeling the soft wool under his bare skin, he could have believed he was in his old room at Lallybroch – a smouldering log fire for heat and candles for light. But he had seen enough to know it was an illusion, even if Claire had not told him that he was two hundred years away from home. He was out of time and place, far more so than Claire had been when she had fallen into his life in 1743.

Caressing a smooth, pale limb flung across his chest, Jamie sighed. 

It was then that he heard William’s voice, the words indistinct, but asking questions.

_John? Was he awake and in pain?_

For the past several days, they had been there for each other – to ease both physical and emotional pain.

 _Ifrinn_.

His eyes sprung open as he realised what he had heard. The click that had been a prelude to the thud had been the sound of a door latch. Shutting. John had seen them. Him and Claire naked on the floor in each other’s arms.

Wanting to go to the man he had grown so close to, he wondered what he would say. _That it wasn’t what it looked like?_ Except it was, he and Claire had made love together, their bodies slotting together just as they always had, their passion ignited as fiercely as ever.

As it always did when they knew they were destined to be parted.

Unable to move without waking Claire, he lay there, sleepless. His eyes fixed on the beamed ceiling overhead. He listened for any other sounds but heard nothing. As the early morning light filtered through the curtains and bathed the room in its deceptively warm glow, he knew he had to make things right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John had also been awake most of the night and as the morning dawned, he came to a decision regarding his future. He was compelled to make things right.

He would have to attempt a return to his own time. From what Jamie had told him on their journey to the stones, along with what he had managed to ascertain from items in the room around him, he knew that he was no longer in 1766. There was a book on the bedside table, printed with exquisite images and, at the front, a publication date of 1951, and an inscription to someone called Brianna on the occasion of their seventh birthday. The paper was so smooth and fine, the print so neat that it could only have come from another time.

An impulse to slip the slim volume entitled ‘Prince Caspian, A return to Narnia’, into a pocket was put paid to by the lack of clothing.

Slowly levering his body into a sitting position, he winced as sharp pains pierced his side. Biting his lip to keep from making a sound, he paused a while before swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress and sliding down to the floor. Keeping his back to the side of the bed, he looked around for the rest of his clothing, but his shirt was nowhere to be seen. However, in the corner of the room he spotted Jamie’s discarded cloak thrown over a chair, which he decided would suffice.

He sat quietly, eyes closed, and tried to recall what the witch had said was required to pass through the stones – _gemstones, fire and blood_. Taking stock of his circumstances, he was pleased to find that he was still wearing Hector’s ring. He deduced that it would not take much to provide some blood if he were to rip the strange bandage from his side and as for fire, he was certain that Jamie carried a small tinderbox in his cloak.

Cautiously getting to his feet, reaching out to steady himself against the wall as a wave of dizziness threatened to overcome him, John waited a moment before making his way to the chair to retrieve the cloak and wrap it around himself. A quick search through the pockets proved that there was indeed the means to light a fire. On further inspection, he also found the sapphire he had returned to Jamie. He smiled and then, on impulse he tucked the small volume into a pocket and left the sapphire behind, in its place. Despite his promise to give the miniature portrait of William to Jamie, he felt that as he was leaving behind the flesh and blood child, he could be forgiven for keeping hold of the likeness that had been tucked away in the same pocket as the sparkling blue stone.

With heavy heart, John kissed the head of the boy he thought of as his son and bid him a silent farewell. It proved too painful to force the words from his throat. Besides which, he did not want to wake William.

Carrying his boots in one hand, he opened the door and slowly padded down the stairs, this time avoiding looking anywhere other than the next tread.

On reaching the bottom, grateful he had not slipped on the highly polished wood, he thought he heard his name but put it aside as a figment of his imagination, either that or the sound of Jamie snoring. He took a few shallow breaths before heading towards the door that had a curtain hanging across it. As he gently pressed down on the latch, he heard movement from behind him but straightened his shoulders and ignored it. Stepping out into the bright sunshine, he paused to look for somewhere to sit and seeing a convenient bench beneath a window, he gingerly sat down to pull on his boots.

But before he could make good his escape, the door sprung open and suddenly Jamie was there, beside him, wrapped in a blanket, but otherwise evidently naked. John smiled wistfully as he recalled standing before Jamie wearing nothing but a coarse woollen blanket in the room at the brothel. It occurred to him that their brief affair was to be bookended by a lack of proper attire and imperilled dignity.

“John!” exclaimed Jamie. “I’m glad tae see ye awake and moving around, but what the hell d’ye think ye’re doing, man?”

“That is no longer any of your concern… sir.” John did not look up as he struggled to fasten the buckles on his boots, his hands trembling slightly as he did so. He was frustrated to realise that the effort to bend down was causing him to break out into a sweat.

“Here – if ye insist on getting dressed,” grumbled Jamie as he crouched down in front of John to assist him with his boots. “Let me help with those before ye pull yer stiches out.”

“There really is no need –” started John before a glare from Jamie silenced him.

“Are ye going to tell me where ye think ye’re going?” asked Jamie, bracing a large hand on each of John’s knees firmly keeping him fixed to the spot.

“It has become apparent that we are no longer beholden to one another. Which, considering our business has been concluded, renders any promises made null and void – I shall not hold you to any commitments made during the course of our joint mission. You are free to do as you wish, with whom you-”

“What are ye -?” Jamie began to demand, until he belatedly realised that the distant tone in John’s voice provided all the confirmation he needed. “Nae, John! What ye saw-”

“Please, do not insult my intelligence.” The words were forced out between gritted teeth as John shook his head with contempt. “Despite my own inclinations, I am quite cognisant of the fact that a man and a woman do not _accidentally_ lay with one another naked.”

Refusing to look at Jamie, John gazed into the distance in an effort to compose himself before having to look Jamie in the face for what he considered could be the last time. Taking as deep a breath as he dared, stopping as the pain became too intense, John tilted his head down to fix Jamie with a watery gaze.

“You have your wife restored to you, sir. You have your son.” John spoke quietly, his lips barely moving. “All I ask, in return, is that you permit me to leave with my dignity intact, or at the very least not totally beyond repair.”

“Leave? What do ye mean ‘leave’?” Jamie stood up slowly and took a seat next to John. He tried to take his hand, as he had so often over the past few weeks, only to find his gesture brusquely rejected.

“I intend to try to return the way I came here. If that fails, I shall …” Pausing to chuckle to himself, John raised an eyebrow and smiled briefly, knowing his bravado to be quite shallow. “To be completely honest, I do not know exactly what I shall do or where I shall go. But, fear not, I shall be gone from here. Neither you nor your lady wife will ever set eyes on me again.”

“ _A Dhia_ – I dinna want that,” gasped Jamie, his face becoming pale. He felt his own heart plummet in his chest as he considered the effect the loss of John’s companionship would have on him. “That’s no’ what I want, John.”

“Really? Because from where I was standing last night, at the top of those stairs, you had all you wanted.” John looked directly into Jamie’s eyes, daring him to disagree. “All you have ever needed, since the very first time we met.”

“Ye’re no’ thinking straight, John,” insisted Jamie, refusing to accept what he was hearing. “Ye’re still weak from blood loss. Ye may have a fever. Let me-”

Reaching out to place a hand against his dear friend’s brow, Jamie was startled by the reaction. John flinched and turned his head away sharply, but not before Jamie caught sight of the moue of distaste that soured John’s otherwise perfect features.

“Please …” John looked nauseous.

Jamie surreptitiously smelt his own hand and winced as he recalled the warm, moist folds that had welcomed his fingers the night before. He swore to himself.

“You know damn well I have no choice but to leave.” John abruptly stood up, wincing as he did so, and then wrapped the cloak around him. “If I am lucky I shall be able to return to my own time-”

“Lucky?” snorted Jamie, getting to his feet to make sure he was able to prevent John from leaving. “What d’ye think will happen to ye if ye go back without William?”

“I shall ensure that word reaches the Dunsanys that I have taken actions in William’s best interests. That for the sake of his safety I have left him in the care of you and your wife, somewhere that no one shall ever find him. That shall serve to exonerate your name and ensure that your family are not persecuted.”

Jamie merely grunted, taken aback at the dispassionate manner in which John spoke. He wondered how long John had been awake to come to such a decision.

“What about ye, John?” his eyes narrowed, Jamie pursued his previous question, realising that John had avoided answering it. “Where the hell will ye go?”

“There will still be a warrant for my arrest I would imagine. However, I am rather hoping to elude capture.” John was talking casually, as if he were not about to put himself in mortal danger. “I have a… an acquaintance. He lives in France now. If I can get a message to him, he may be willing to offer me sanctuary- ”

“Wheesht! Ye canna mean Percy, that bloody step-brother of yers!” growled Jamie, grabbing hold of John’s arm. “I sincerely hope ye dinna mean that fucking wee sodomite–”

“Ah, so here we return once more.” Snatching his arm from Jamie’s grasp, John made no attempt to keep the scathing bitterness from his voice as he tilted his face up to Jamie, challenging him to strike out, to create a schism between them that would make parting easier to bear. “Do you not recall that I too am a ‘fucking wee sodomite’ and for that matter so are you?”

“Stop it, John!” roared Jamie, clenching his fists even as he recognised the goading for what it was. Holding onto the blanket was the only thing keeping him from lashing out in anger. “Ye’re just being cruel tae push me away from ye. Ye have nae right tae-“

“I have every right to do this!” retorted John fiercely. “This may very well be the last thing I have any conscious control over, and I’ll be damned if I concede that.”

“John, please stay,” pleaded Jamie as he realised he was running out of time. “We need tae talk -”

“There’s nothing further to be said.” John walked backwards increasing the distance between them, feeling his heart shattering with each footstep. 

Before turning his back on Jamie, John paused, his eyes brimming with tears.

“I shall never regret the last few weeks. Despite the desperate nature of our journey, these have been some of the best days of my life.” Ducking down quickly so he did not have to see Jamie’s reaction, he sniffed once before adding: “Take good care of William and do tell him that I love him.”

As John turned sharply on his heel, Jamie lunged forward intent on dragging him back. However, the fabric of the cloak slipped from between his fingers as a small, yet strong hand firmly latched onto his wrist and stopped him in his tracks.

“You have to let him go, Jamie. You cannot force him to stay against his will.”

Whipping his head around, Jamie was torn – he spun back to witness John’s painful progress up the track, head down and resolutely not turning around for one last glimpse.

Before Jamie could think of what to say, a bundle of ferocity swept out of the cottage doorway barrelling its way past him, but not quite fast enough.

“Papa!” yelled William, rushing past only to be intercepted by Jamie and pulled back.

Kicking and squirming, the boy struggled against an immovable force, yet again betraying his blood.

“Papa! Come back! I promise I’ll be a good boy!”

Jamie’s visions came crashing back – bringing the present into a brutal collision with a scene from his past when he had been the one to turn his back and walk away from William. He did not doubt for one moment that there would be tears in John’s eyes just as there had been in his that day at Helwater. As he held onto William, feeling the boy’s heaving shoulders as he wept out loud, he wondered if that had been how John had felt that day.

“Dammit, James Fraser, is it his nobility that draws you to the man? Or his stubbornness?” asked Claire, sounding exasperated.

“Were ye listening in fer long?” asked Jamie.

“Long enough. From what I witnessed, that bloody man could give you a run for your money when it comes to nursing a martyr complex,” muttered Claire. “Come inside and get dressed before going after him. Trust me, he won’t be able to get close to the stones until the local witches have finished their solstice rituals.”

“Witches?” repeated Jamie, his eyes narrowing. One had been more than enough to deal with. He did not want to think of John having to deal with a whole coven of them.

“Harmless women, carrying torches and dancing around the stones in their night gowns. Come on, back inside.”

“Aye,” agreed Jamie, scratching his head. “I’ll come back in – tae get dressed, so I can catch up with the wee bastard before he does something he’ll regret-”

“But, Jamie –”cautioned Claire. “If this is what he truly wants to do – ”

“D’ye recall William Grey, that wee English lad? D’ye recall how he was willing tae give his life fer the honour of an English gentlewoman about to be ravished by a band of unruly Highland warriors?”

“Of course. You broke his bloody arm and tied him to – ” Claire paled as it dawned on her where she had seen the Grey’s face before, leaner than it had been that day, although the eyes and the voice were as earnest as they had been that night. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ – it’s him isn’t it? Grey?”

“Aye – and trust me, Sassenach, in the past twenty years, he’s grown tae be even more noble and honourable than he was that night.”

Not wanting to put his fears into words in front of William, Jamie hoped his narrowed eyes and fierce gaze over the boy’s head would convey to Claire the reason for his concern.

Claire frowned as she tilted her head in question and then looked into the woods in the direction taken by Grey. Without another word, she stooped to gather William up into her arms. As she did so, Jamie leaned over close.

“I’ll go bring yer papa back, dinna fash, lad. It’s nothing ye’ve done. He asked me to tell ye that he loves ye.” Jamie kissed the boy’s head, unwittingly brushing his lips across the same curling strands that had been touched by John’s lips not long beforehand.

“Claire? Can ye fix the lad something tae eat while I go fetch his papa.”

As Claire carried William into the kitchen she glanced over her shoulder to see Jamie pulling on breeches, stockings and boots, followed by his shirt and jacket. She scowled at him as he tucked a knife into his belt, but he merely shook his head.

“Jamie? Do you really think he would…?”

“He’s no’ so different to ye either, Claire. That bloody man is also capable of anything he puts his head to. I’ve seen enough tae be convinced he means what he said. Keep an eye on William, I have fences tae mend. He’d better not have gone through the bloody stones with those daft notions in his head. I’ll no’ forgive myself if he has.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie found John sitting with his back against the trunk of a rowan tree gazing at the stones, taking short, shallow breaths. There were beads of sweat on his brow and he looked pale. He was surprised that John had made it so far without collapsing until he recalled his own words to Claire.

“Ye managed tae upset yer son.” Jamie called out, having no qualms about trying to make John feel guilty. He shook his head as he towered over John. ~~~~

“He is not my-” started John, wincing as Jamie clipped him across the top of his head with the back of his hand.

“ _Sguir dheth!_ Stop that, now. I dinna want tae hear any more o’ that nonsense,” grunted Jamie. “Ye are the lad’s guardian and stepfather, which makes ye just as much a father tae Willie as I am – more so legally. Besides, anyone with eyes in their head can see how much tha’ wee lad loves ye. And I ken what it’s cost ye tae see the boy safe.”

John merely huffed in response and looked past Jamie, towards the stones that were just visible beyond the trees.

“He’ll forget me,” whispered John, but the way he pulled his lower lip between his teeth gave away how much it hurt him to consider that future.

“ _Mo charaid_ ,” sighed Jamie as he sat down next to John. “Why are ye giving him up now?”

“You know damn well. He has the chance to be brought up by his true father and …” pausing to collect himself, John stole a glance at Jamie before continuing. “His father’s wife. She will care for William as her own because he is your son-”

“Is that why ye care fer him?” demanded Jamie. “Is that the true reason ye marrit Isobel, to bring up my son?”

“No! Damn you!” spat John, his eyes flashing angrily at Jamie. “I would have married her even if she were not caring for William. Rather a betrothal to a woman who knew me and had always been a good friend, than to someone selected for me by my beloved mother!”

“But ye dinna love her-” challenged Jamie. “No’ as a man should love his wife-”

“I care for her more than many a man cares for his wife,” stated John vehemently. “I know that she e will be grief-stricken if she never finds out what happened to William.” John paused to rub a hand over his face. “At least if I go back, I can let her know that he is alive and well, regardless of what my own fate may hold.”

“Christ, John, ye’re nae going back just to save the lass heartache are ye?” Jamie stared at John, wondering what was going through his head.

“No, of course not. I am not quite as selfless as you may believe. But, I cannot stay here – that much must be obvious to you.”

“Why? Because of what ye saw?” Jamie stared at John, open-mouthed. “Please, dinna do anything rash, John. It… What ye saw…”

“I saw you looking more at peace than I have ever seen you, in all the years I have known you,” replied John. “I have never seen you like that in all the nights we slept together or on the mornings we woke in each other’s arms.”

“Damn it, John! Our – yes, _our_ son - had been kidnapped!” yelled Jamie, infuriated. “Of course I wasna sleeping soundly at night. But neither were ye!” Jamie jabbed a finger in John’s chest. “That had nothing tae do with how I felt about ye compared tae-”

“Felt? Past tense.” John snapped, glaring at Jamie, even as he rubbed his chest. “I should have known. Our shared mission to rescue William allowed for our more intimate exchanges to be excused as no more than the acts shared by such men as the sacred brothers of Thebes-”

“How dare ye throw that argument back at me!” growled Jamie, leaping to his feet and clenching his fists.

“Well, now you have returned quite literally to the bosom of your beloved wife, I think it would be fair to say that any such brotherhood is now disbanded.” John fixed Jamie with a belligerent stare. “William now knows that you are his true father. Neither of you have any need for me in your lives any longer-”

“Will ye stop feeling sae fucking sorry fer yerself, John!” growled Jamie as he reached down to pull John to his feet. “What I said tae ye, for the first time that night in the mountains, I meant every damn word. Why will ye no’ fight fer what ye want?”

“Damn you! You bloody well know why I won’t – because I want both you and William in my life and that’s never going to happen,” spat John, angered that Jamie was provoking him into saying out loud what he assumed he already knew. He then shook his head, as if dislodging a fanciful notion, before continuing. “But what I want more than anything is for you to be happy – and you can be. Now. You have her and you have your son.”

“Aye, but only if I choose to stay here!” snarled Jamie, his eyes boring into John’s as he grabbed a fistful of woollen cloak to pull the man close to his face. “Did it no’ occur to ye that I would want tae go back tae my own time?”

“Not for a minute,” responded John hastily, as he attempted to pry Jamie’s fingers from the woollen cloth bunched up around his throat. “Not if that meant leaving her behind.”

Putting a concerted effort into pulling free from Jamie’s grasp, John ineffectively tried to push Jamie aside, only to find himself grabbed by the arms and shoved up against the gnarled trunk of the ancient rowan tree. Before he knew it, Jamie was kissing him fiercely.

Relentlessly sealing his mouth to John’s, Jamie did not pause until John gasped for breath, allowing him to slide his tongue between swollen lips to sweep across John’s tongue. Holding John in place with his body, Jamie pulled the cloak aside to allow his hand access to bare skin, sliding an arm around John’s waist to pull him closer.

Feeling John’s hands cupping his face assured Jamie that he was not imagining the connection they still shared – even after William’s safety had been secured.

“Can ye feel that, John? What I felt fer ye hasna gone. Tha’s no’ my imagination, or yours.” Jamie’s breathing was harsh as he burrowed his nose into John’s neck and felt the man’s pulse racing under his lips. “I need ye in my life and I’ll no’ let ye walk away.”

“You bastard,” muttered John, his voice breaking as tears ran freely down his flushed cheeks. “You couldn’t just let me disappear on my terms, could you? You had to do that, to make sure I knew what I am losing. If I ever thought you cared one iota for me–”

“ _Ifrinn!_ ” Jamie straightened up to confront John, only hesitating when he saw the look of despair on his face. “John, I swear tae ye, I didna do that tae manipulate ye. It was nae more planned out than what happened between me and Claire -”

“So, you’re not denying it did – ”

“No! But no’ in the way ye think it did.” Jamie’s voice was urgent, he needed to explain what had happened before John took flight and ran for the stones. “Only after an argument. And I’m no’ sure who started it – Claire was wanting tae have it out with me after she realised I had been kissing ye when she first saw us and I… well, I had seen something that made me sae angry. We shouted and yelled at each other. Outside away from the house. Then it just happened. Like when-”

“Like when you buggered me the first time against a stone hut on a mountainside?” asked John, recalling the fire in Jamie’s eyes that night as he had unleashed his passions.

“Aye, something like that,” agreed Jamie, also recalling the similarities.

“How romantic,” responded John drolly.

“Aye. Then we drank a bottle of whisky, before ending up on the hearth rugs,” Jamie hesitated as he realised that would have been where John had seen them in each other’s arms. “That was when we made love fer the last time knowing we’d be parting again.”

John’s mouth fell open and his eyebrows shot up.

“What … what did you just say? What do you mean ‘parting again’?”

Jamie sunk down to the ground by the tree, pulling John down next to him. Meeting his kind, soulful eyes, he knew he had to confide in him – too much damage had been done to their friendship by secrets kept, he owed John the truth. He sighed as he shut his eyes and the torrent of accusations came back, echoing in his mind like crashing waves in a storm, making him feel sick to his stomach:

_“How could you – after what Black Jack Randall put you through?”_

**_“John Grey is no’ Jack Randall! Ye let my daughter believe her father’s face was that o’ the man who defiled me!”_ **

_“Hypocrite! You seem happy to let Lord-fucking-Grey bring up your son-”_

_“ **He would never defile me, or pretend tae be my child’s true father – ye let a Randall steal that from me!”**_

_“Then stay! Meet Brianna and make a life here with me!”_

**_“Two hundred years from my own time? What am I meant tae do here?”_ **

_“You won’t need a job. Besides, your son will need you-“_

**_“Who says the lad is staying here? This is no’ Willie’s home.”_ **

_“You are his father! He should stay with you.”_

**_“I dinna need tae stay here tae have him in my life. Sassenach – come back with me!”_ **

_“I can’t! I have a career I have fought bloody hard for and a daughter who needs me.”_

**_“Listen tae ye – ye put yer career before yer daughter! Ye say ye’re still the same, but ye’re no’-”_ **

_“I cannot walk out on people who depend on me – ”_

**_“What about me? Ye once said I was yer home-”_ **

_“And you said I was yours…”_

**_“Are ye saying ye’ll no’ come back with me?”_ **

_“Are you saying you won’t stay here with me?”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Jamie sat on a hillside, his head in John’s lap as the younger man listened patiently, running his fingers through his auburn locks, their son was trying not to burn slices of bread.

Watching William surreptitiously from the kitchen as she heated a can of baked beans on the Aga, Claire decided the risk of letting him use the toasting fork in front of the fire was worth it. It had proved a suitable distraction; he had only set fire to the first piece and that had been because he had been wiping tears from his face and was not paying close attention. 

Pensively, Claire wondered if Jamie would relent and agree to stay with her, with his son. Taking the plate of toast from the hearth to the small dining table she beckoned William to join her. Obediently and politely he took a seat and waited until offered a piece of toast before taking one. Watching as the child neatly cut the toasted bread into small triangles, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on the task at hand, Claire wondered how much of a culture shock it would prove for him if he were to remain in the 1960’s.

“Tell me, William, have you lived in the country or in town?” inquired Claire, as she spooned a heap of beans onto the buttered toast. “Be careful, they’re very hot.”

“Thank you. We mainly reside in the country, on my grandparents’ estate, but papa takes me and Mother Isobel to London with him sometimes. We stay with my uncle and my nephews.”

Claire frowned, she had not considered that he would have relatives that he may miss.

“What sort of things do you enjoy doing most?” It made sense to find out what interests the boy had, just in case.

It occurred to Claire that she had never stopped to wonder what sort of life Brianna would have had if she had not returned through the stones. Brianna’s spoilt childhood in Boston would have been hard to replicate in the eighteenth century.

Thinking of both of Jamie’s children, she thought that perhaps his son’s life had been bereft of affection, having lost his mother at birth and then brought up by his mother’s younger sister and a stepfather. However, she was taken aback to hear the excited babbling of the child as he carefully speared each baked bean with the fork, demonstrating the good table manners he had been taught.

Between eager descriptions of pony trekking, camping, and fishing near the lake, to fighting with wooden swords and playing with his pet Dachshund puppy that his papa had called Kleine Wurst, to games of chess and story reading at bed time, it was evident that not only had the boy been cherished, but that he absolutely adored his ‘papa’. When she had heard the stark details concerning the child’s conception and how Grey had taken on the role of stepfather, Claire had fostered suspicions as to Grey’s motives, yet it was apparent that he had been – just as Jamie had insisted – a particularly good and loving father.

Just as Frank had been to Brianna. She would never have dreamt of denying him his role in Brianna’s life.

It then came to her, just as she had asserted strongly that she would not abandon either her daughter or her responsibilities to patients and colleagues, that she could not in good faith allow a vulnerable eight-year-old boy to be permanently separated from either of his fathers. For his sake and for theirs.

As soon as William finished eating, she gave him his clothes, having brushed them down as best she could do remove the dried mud, and let himself get dressed. She then grabbed her coat and rucksack before propelling the confused child out of the door.

“Come along, William,” she exhorted with conviction. “We need to find your papa and your father before things are said or done that cannot be mended! I don’t think I trust the two of them not to mess things up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aye, we argued, got drunk, made love and passed out,” confessed Jamie as he kept a tight grip on John’s hand. “I cannae lie tae ye, John, I still love her. But that doesna change the fact that I still have feelings fer ye.”

“Are you just saying that to –”

Jamie did not bother answering with words, but sat up and pressed his lips to John’s once more, grateful that they opened more willingly than before. He felt John’s breathing hasten and worried briefly about the injury to his chest. Tracing the edges of the bandages with his fingertips he reassured himself that there were no damp patches indicating renewed bleeding.

He could not deny what his body instinctively knew – that he felt a similar attraction to John as he did to Claire. Both possessed passionate natures, even though John guarded his in public and it had only been since they had travelled alone together that he had become fully aware of it. Jamie had kept a flame burning in his heart for Claire for twenty years, almost letting himself be consumed by its heat. Yet during that time, another flicker had taken root and held its own alongside the flame of the woman he had thought would be the only true love of his life. A small spark ignited over shared meals, wine and games of chess, growing ever stronger over time spent at Helwater, where he had found himself eagerly looking forward to John’s quarterly visits. The journey from Edinburgh to Inverness had fanned that small flicker into something brighter and more powerful, growing fiercer as it expanded to encompass his son, William. _Their_ son.

While he had not given up on the challenge of persuading Claire to return with him – he knew for certain that he could not let John and William go without him. 

Looking up to see John’s patient gaze waiting for him to put his thoughts into words, Jamie sighed as he explained once more, feeling obliged to defend Claire’s declaration that she could not leave her own time.

“She says she canna leave Brianna – our daughter - in America on her own. She has commitments she says.” Jamie’s words were disjointed, as he tried to piece together what Claire had tried to explain to him over that bottle of whisky. He realised that he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself.

John frowned and tried to understand what Jamie was trying to tell him.

“To some extent I sympathise with the demands of responsibilities and duties,” said John, thinking of his own military career. “But if I had the chance to be with the one I loved, having been separated –”

“What would ye choose, John?” asked Jamie abruptly. “Love or duty?”

“To me they are the same – a duty to honour love above all,” murmured John as he plucked a loose magpie feather from the ground and smoothed the vane between his thumb and fingertips. “If it had not been for Hal dragging me away from his body… I’d have followed Hector to the grave.”

Jamie’s eyes widened as he heard both honesty and sadness in John’s voice. Yet again, calling to mind his violent denial that love could exist between two men as it did between a man and a woman. When he had let Claire go before the battle, he had been prepared to die, as life without her would have meant nothing to him. Indeed his soul was barely alive for many years after – until he met John again at Ardsmuir. It had been John’s friendship that had given him reason to live.

“If ye were in Claire’s place,” asked Jamie, his brow creased as he focused on John’s reaction. “Would ye follow me?”

“Please, do not toy with my feelings, Jamie,” sighed John, crushing the feather in his hand. “My heart cannot take much more.”

“ _Dinna fash, mo leannan_ , I’m no’ trying tae hurt ye,” soothed Jamie, reaching out to take hold of John’s clenched fist to release the feather. “Tell me, if ye could find a way tae stay with me – just imagine such a thing were possible. What would ye say?”

“I would move heaven and earth to make it possible,” replied John without hesitation, a smile gracing his full lips. “If required, I would move to Scotland and bring William and Isobel with me.”

“I trust ye would, John,” replied Jamie, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he saw nothing but sincerity in John’s clear blue eyes. “I truly believe ye would.”

He had not doubted what John’s answer would be, but that he would even suggest bringing William with him told Jamie all that he needed to know.

Before anything else could be discussed, they were both startled by calls of ‘Mac’, ‘Papa’ and ‘Da’ coming closer to where they were reclining against the tree. Jamie scrambled to his feet, dusted himself down and then helped John off the ground.

It was moments later that William appeared over the edge of the hill, running without a care before throwing himself at John, wrapping his arms around his papa’s legs, clinging on tightly as if afraid to let go.

“He was worried that you weren’t coming back,” said Claire, puffing a little, as she came into view. “Either of you.”

“I am sorry for worrying you, Willie.” John ruffled the dishevelled curls and gingerly crouched down to take William in his arms.

“And I do believe it is inconsiderate to walk out on one’s host without bidding them farewell.”

“You have my most abject apologies, Madam,” responded John, groaning as he manoeuvred himself back into a sitting position. Placing his hands over William’s ears, he added quietly: “But I was under the impression that you would wish me gone sooner rather than later.”

“Never assume what I am thinking, Lord John,” came Claire’s cryptic response as she looked from Jamie to Grey and smiled at each of them. “Jamie, if you could distract young William with the biscuits you’ll find in the rucksack, I’ll see how my runaway patient is faring.”

Claire knelt down in the long grass next to John, taking him by surprise as she placed the back of one hand against his brow and wrapped the fingers of the other around his wrist.

“You’re warmer than you ought to be, even considering the exertion of climbing up that bloody hill. Not surprisingly your pulse is also faster than it should be.” Settling down to continue her impromptu examination, Claire checked that William was not listening in before she nonchalantly tilted her head in the direction of the stones. “Were you waiting for the women to complete their rituals?”

“Yes,” admitted John, bashfully. “And then Jamie found me.” 

“If you could get to your feet please, I’d like to listen to your chest,” instructed Claire, as she unfastened the cloak, with the intention of checking John’s breathing.

Seeing John struggle to get to his feet, Jamie moved forward to help, with William in close attendance. Just as Jamie held out a hand to John, a thunderous roaring sound came out of nowhere and the air seemed to crackle with energy. Pulling the dagger from its sheath on his belt, Jamie dropped to a crouch, pulling William under his arm, all the while scanning the skies until he saw two arrow-shaped beasts hurtling down the valley towards the Moray Firth.

It was then that a second, even louder growling came from the sky , causing Jamie to throw his body over John’s scooping William up in an arm as he did so. He then reached out towards Claire, trying to drag her down to safety with them.

“ _Ifrinn an Diabhuil! A Dhia, thoir cobhair!_ ” exclaimed Jamie. “Claire, woman, get down here, damn ye – d’ye have nae fear o’ dragons?”

“Dragons?” blurted out Claire.

“Or demons – aye, they couldha been demons.”

“Those weren’t dragons, or demons, Jamie,” snapped Claire, with an exasperated expression, only to sigh heavily as she understood his reaction. “They’re probably heading for Lossiemouth. The Royal Naval Air Station. I think they were Buccaneers.”

“But, madam, there is no naval base at Lossiemouth,” commented John, sounding confused as he gasped for breath.

“Jamie – get off the man, before you suffocate him!”

Jamie rolled to one side and apologised as he slid an arm under John to lift him upright. William darted into John’s arms as Jamie turned to question Claire further.

“What are ye on about, Sassenach? Buccaneers are ships.”

“And so are those - I told you once about metal ships that flew through the sky. Those were fighting versions, in the same way that ships in your time were designed for either cargo or warfare-”

“Hush, please. Both of you.”

Claire and Jamie spun around to see John comforting William who was shaking in his arms.

“After everything he’s been through, that’s terrified him.” John wrapped the cloak around William and stroked his back to comfort him. “He just told me that woman who kidnapped him told him she could fly through the air on a metal broomstick.”

“A Dhia,” muttered Jamie as he knelt down next to William to add his own soothing words in Gaelic. “ _Ist m'eudial, cuir stad airdo rànail - cha tig cron sam bit ort_. Dinna cry, _mo ghille_ , we’ll no’ let any harm came tae ye.”

“I’m sorry, John,” said Claire. “I’d not considered how frightening that would have been to William.”

“And ye wonder why I said I canna stay here with ye,” murmured Jamie as he approached Claire.

“I understand Jamie. It’s obvious that William needs to go home, with his papa. I understand that now.” Claire held out her hands to Jamie. “You must go with them. You missed out on your daughter’s childhood, Jamie and I cannot let you miss out on William’s too.”

“Sassenach – ye could come with us,” suggested Jamie, his ears still ringing from the sound of the ‘demons’ that had passed overhead.

“No, Jamie, I cannot. As we discussed last night, Brianna needs me. If I disappear without a word, she will never know what happened to me. To revisit that fate upon our daughter, would be unforgiveable,” explained Claire, squeezing Jamie’s hands as she braced herself for his reaction. “As far as she is aware, she has lost one parent and I cannot let her lose me – not now. Her life and future are in the balance and she needs her mother. More now than ever. And I… I need my career. I have sacrificed so much for it already. I cannot come with you - ”

“I canna stay– ”

“You could, Jamie,” interjected John, a wistful expression drifting across his features. “I would not take William from you-”

“I ken ye wouldna do that, John. But I cannae take the lad from you either. He doesna belong here anymore than I do.” Letting go of Claire’s hands, Jamie sat down on his haunches in front of William and laid a hand across the boy’s back. “The poor wee lad’s still shaking.”

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, can you two hear yourselves? You’ve apparently been through one hell of an ordeal searching for William – now you’ve rescued him, you’re both attempting to sacrifice the chance of being a father to him!” Claire stood, hands on hips glaring at both men. “For what? Dammit! Honour? Gentlemen, this is the last thing that child needs to witness, his two fathers arguing, however nobly, over who should keep him. The answer is obvious.”

“What are ye saying, Sassenach?” Jamie frowned, surprised to hear Claire referring to them both as William’s father.

“It strikes me that the stones brought you here, to me, for a reason. Maybe more than one. You came here, it seems, for us to have closure and for me to heal your son’s other father.”

Jamie paused as he considered what had happened in the space of twenty-four hours. If the stones had not let him through, or if they had all three stayed put in 1766, the ‘pneumothorax’ that Claire had spoken of would have caused John to suffocate from lack of air. He would be dead – having died in Jamie’s arms with William watching on. Thinking solemnly for a moment, Jamie knew that would have left two broken hearts. As would John’s leaving them to willingly walk back alone through those stones to an unknown fate.

“William needs ye, John, and I left the lad once and dinna think I can do it again. And I ken that if ye turn yer back on him ye’ll be breaking yer own heart as well as his.”

“Mine does not enter the –”

“Dinna talk shite, man. Yer feelings matter tae William and they matter tae me. I’m coming with ye.” Jamie turned to Claire and took her in his arms. “This isna my time, Claire. I wish ye could come back with me. I wish I could see Brianna, but –”

“I know, Jamie,” answered Claire, her voice catching in her throat. “Perhaps one day, after I tell her about you, maybe we’ll come through together to find you?”

“Jamie!” called out John. “Stay here! Your heart belongs to her.”

“It also belongs to ye John and tae William,” countered Jamie, even as he held Claire close to his chest. “There’s nae reason I canna love all of ye. Do ye no’ love William?”

“You know damn well I would give my life for that child-”

“And fer me, I ken that as a fact. Ye’re capable of loving more than one person – tell me, do ye still love Hector?”

“There will always be a place for him in my heart,” answered John, casting an eye at the ring on his finger. “He has never left it.“

“Exactly. That is how it was fer me when I thought that Claire was gone from me forever.”

“That’s how I’ve felt the past twenty years, even though I believed you were long dead,” murmured Claire as tears leaked from her eyes.

“I’ve come tae realise that we’ve room tae love more than one person. There’s room in our hearts for those who have gone forever from this earth as well as those walking in different times. If it hadna been fer the stones, I’d ha’ never met Claire and ye’d be dead – bled out on that damn altar stone, with that witch’s body no’ far from ye – for I’d ha’ killed the bitch if Ian Òg hadnae got there first.”

John leant over William’s small body and hid his face in the boy’s curly hair. He knew what Jamie meant, having space in his heart for Hector, Jamie and the child in his arms.

“Are ye alright, John?” asked Jamie, concerned.

“The pain in my side is not so– ”

“I didna mean the knife wound – I ken well enough that ye shrug off injuries like I do. If ye can walk it’s no’ worth worrying about, aye?”

“What did you mean?”

“Are ye ready tae try tae return to our home?”

John looked up, a tearful smile on his face. Unable to speak, he just nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they stood at the centre of the stone circle as the sun set behind them, John could hear the buzzing – just as loud as it had been the previous night.

“You should try to focus on something to draw you back to the right time,” advised Claire.

“Isobel,” murmured John. As he held tightly onto William’s small hand, he looked into his son’s eyes. “She will be so scared – wondering what has become of her dear little boy. She blames herself you know. I need to set her mind and heart to rest.”

“I miss mama as well,” said William. “She must be very sad with both of us gone. “

“What about you, Jamie?” asked John. “Who will you focus upon?”

“I’ll think o’ those I love dearly. Family – Fergus, Ian and Jenny,” replied Jamie, although his eyes did not leave John and William. They were his family, too, his son and his lover.

Claire stood apart from them, not wanting to get too close to the stones. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, inside her coat.

“I am not sure it will work – I can’t hear anything,” she said, frowning.

“No? I can hear them, just the same as the first time. Like a swarm of bees,” explained John, seeing Claire’s nod in affirmation. “The first time was a different group of stones – I touched one and it felt just like an electric shock.”

“How the hell would you know what an electric shock feels like?” demanded Claire, suddenly suspicious of the Englishman, thinking that perhaps he was hiding something after all.

“An electric eel party in Belgravia if you must know,” replied John, the corner of his mouth turning up in a self-deprecating smirk. “Nearly killed me, so I am inclined to recall it with a great deal of clarity. That and the subsequent duel.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at John and muttered something about ‘bloody Englishmen’ and death wishes.

“Oh. I see.”

Claire shook her head and smiled to herself. She came to the conclusion that under other circumstances she would have liked to have got to know John Grey much better. For him to inspire the love of a young child and the devotion of Jamie Fraser, it occurred to her that he must be worthy in some way of that love. And consequently, deserving of kindness and at least an attempt at understanding. He had also been prepared to sacrifice his claim over the child, and from what Jamie had said probably his freedom and career, in order for Jamie to stay with her. 

“I can barely hear them, just the faintest of humming in the distance.” Claire tilted her head from side to side, as if trying to catch an elusive song on the breeze that was stirring the branches of the trees overhead.

“Perhaps because it is not the time for you?” ventured John. He caught Claire’s eye and stooped down to pick up a sprig of forget-me-nots from where they were growing in drifts around the stones and walked over to hand it to Claire.

“It is said that to give forget-me-nots to another means that they will always be in your thoughts. I shall not forget you.”

Holding out a hand, Claire accepted the flower and held it to her nose – the fragrance stronger at night. She held onto John’s hand and pulled him close.

“Take good care of him,” she whispered.

“I swear to you on my life that I shall do whatever it takes to keep him from harm’s way.”

“I believe you will. Remember to look after yourself too – loving Jamie Fraser is never easy.”

“Indeed, I am apparently destined to be a fool for love,” admitted John. “I could never deny Jamie what he needs to be happy.”

“Even if that meant letting him go?”

“Is that not what you’re doing?”

“Touché,” responded Claire with a sad grin, understanding a little more about Lord John Grey.

“I shall care for him and I shall always love him. That is my fate, madam, to love him for as long as there’s breath in my body and you, my dear, made sure that I did not breathe my last breath on this damn hill side.”

“I think that if I had, Jamie’s heart would have broken – I saw it in his eyes but refused to acknowledge it. It was a look he gave me so many times, it was there on his face as he hovered over you and held you to his chest. If I had failed to save you, he would never have got over you dying in his arms. “

“I shall repay that favour a thousand-fold, madam, and keep him safe for the time when you do return.“

“I trust you will, John. Go with my blessings. Stay safe and for God’s sake, use the Dettol on the wound and take those pills I gave you. I hate to think what was on that knife that bloody bitch used on you.”

As Claire watched John walk away, after attempting to bow to her without grimacing, she looked again at the flowers he had given her.

She knew the lore of flowers. If only John knew it had been these very flowers that had her return to Craigh na Dun that day she had travelled through the stones to the past.

She knew that forget-me-nots were a symbol of true love and respect, and of fidelity.

As Jamie walked over and took her in his arms, kissing her deeply, his tears mingling with hers, she recalled that fidelity meant being truthful to someone you love.

Being true is letting that person be who they need to be – for her it was as a surgeon in Boston, supporting her daughter who wanted to study engineering at MIT or Harvard. She wanted a career and to be there to see Brianna graduate – whereas Jamie wanted to return to Scotland to be father to a boy who was very attached to a man that Jamie also evidently loved. To let John return without either, to face possible criminal charges alongside a court martial – Jamie would not forgive himself for that if he stayed. The world of the twentieth century was not for him – the fighter jets from RNAS Lossiemouth had terrified him.

_Would their love have been enough?_

_Would he have been prepared to keep house while she pursued a career?_

_He had another ten years of his son’s childhood to enjoy the fatherhood he’d missed out on with Brianna –she could not deny him that._

_That was the truth and all three of them knew it._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**June 22 1766**

As they stumbled through the cleft between the rocks, hand in hand, with Jamie cradling William in one arm, they came into a scene they had never expected.

The stones were illuminated by a fiercely crackling fire – just as they had the night they left, but there was no sign of either Geillis Duncan, or her head. Nor of the two Scotsmen who had stood beside her. John collapsed to his knees, winded and struggling for breath. Jamie let go of William to grab hold of the scruff of the cloak to keep John from falling forward.

Frowning to himself, his senses reorientating themselves, Jamie heard voices beyond the stones – a mixture of accents: French, Scots and English. Each one of them familiar to him.

“Shit.”

Then with a squeal, William ran off towards the voices.

“Uncle Hal! Uncle Hal!”

“Come back here, William!” yelled Jamie.

“It’s Uncle Hal!” came the excited response. But Jamie already knew that Hal Grey was there – although he had no idea why or how. “Quickly, Uncle Hal – papa needs help! The witch stabbed him – but Mac got us to a lady who made him better. She gave me bees on toast to eat as well ... and…”

“Johnny, my dear boy,” came Hal Grey’s booming voice. “What’s this bloody mess you’ve got yourself involved in this time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now edited to add the images I forgot in my hurry to post!  
> There will be an epilogue ... trust me.


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the final chapter. 
> 
> Loose ends are tied - in elaborate knots. 
> 
> Thank you to all those who've kept up with this story and to those who've left comments.  
> Special thanks to the cheerleaders, who know who they are, whose encouragement at various stages has helped me complete this epic. 
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

** Epilogue  **

A sharply aimed kick to his shin startled Jamie out of his thoughts. He scowled at his sister who was stood in front of him, hands on hips glaring at him.

“Can ye shift that great big arse out of my way?”

“I was trying tae keep out of yer way,” grumbled Jamie, shuffling along to the edge of the steps outside the front door of Broch Tuarach.

Jenny shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“It’s no’ easy to miss ye, brooding around like a massive great stag licking his wounds.”

Jamie ducked his head down into his chest and tried not to snap at Jenny. He had no idea how to explain to his sister, who had everything, how it felt to have been parted from the people he loved most. The previous day, he had been with in the company of the three people who meant the world to him, now one was two hundred years in the future, and the other two pulled from his side, and all he could do was pray, wait and hope to see them again.

“I’ll go elsewhere if ye’d prefer,” grunted Jamie, pushing himself up from the stone step only to be pushed back down by one precisely placed foot.

“If ye’ll no’ tell me what’s going on in yer heid, can ye at least tell me what the hell happened?” Jenny had the sun behind her, so Jamie was having to squint in the sunlight to see her. “I’ve got Ian Òg willing to swear on a bible that ye were all spirited away by the faerie folk – and Fergus telling me that my son cut the heid off a witch with a magic sword!”

Jamie quelled the urge to laugh out loud. However ridiculous the stories that his adopted son and nephew may have told Jenny they were probably more believable than the truth would have been to his sister.

“Well – that sounds about right tae me,” he finally replied with a shrug.

“A Dhia – one thing’s fer certain, ye’ve all been bewitched. Those two talking nonsense and ye refusing to say a word about what happened and looking as if ye’ve lost a shilling and found a penny. Ian says that William is staying with his redcoat uncle because yer Lord John is dying from a witch’s curse-”

“I hope tae God he isna, for if he is, I’ll make someone pay for it,” muttered Jamie grimly as he crossed himself. “Dinna ask what’s happened tae John… I dinna ken. As fer William, his uncle will take good care of him, he promised me.” And as Jamie had come to realise over the years, Greys kept their word and their promises. Even if it ended up half killing them or worse.

Yet again, the scene atop that damn hill came back to him. He was holding onto John tightly, sensing him fight to remain conscious, as John had called out to his brother that Jamie and his kin had saved his life and that of William. He had then looked up at Jamie, struggling to keep his eyes open, the blood draining from his face as he whispered – ‘ _take care of our son’_. The last Jamie had seen of John, after he had collapsed, he was being carried away on a stretcher at his brother’s orders. When the soldiers had tried to take John from his arms Jamie had been ready to fight them, force them to go through him before laying a finger on John, only for Hal Grey to step forward and reassure him that he was having John taken to his tent to be attended to by his personal physician. Jamie rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, for all he knew that may have been the last time he would ever have held the man he had grown to love.

Jenny frowned as she watched her brother continue brooding. His behaviour was totally at odds to that of her son and Fergus, who were bouncing around like overexcited puppies, while Jamie seemed to be grieving.

She snorted and sweeping her skirts under her backside she took a seat next to her brother. Knowing full well how unlikely he was to admit anything whilst being put on the spot, Jenny started to pinch out the faded blooms from the rose bush near the steps, gathering the deadheads in her apron.

“All I ken is that ye turn up wi’ those two rascals, looking like a dog wi’ its tail between its legs. I thought ye’d be relieved it was all over with. Ye could go back tae Edinburgh-”

“I’m waiting tae see my son.” _And John Grey_. Jamie murmured a swift prayer for the man’s health and safety.

“I still dinna understand why ye couldna bring the bairn back here with ye,” muttered Jenny.

“I told ye, Janet,” growled Jamie, exasperated at having to explain his situation when he hardly understood what it was himself. He had anticipated hiding from the law, with John and William, not having a welcoming committee on attendance including John’s damn brother. “The Duke promised he’d bring them here as soon as John was well. For all our sakes he needs tae prove that William is alive and unharmed tae the court in Inverness.”

“Ye trust them then, those bloody redcoats?” asked Jenny nonchalantly as she sucked her thumb where she had pricked it on a thorn. “Wi’ yer son and our safety!”

“Aye, mo phiuthar, I do. I dinna care much fer Hal Grey, but he has kept his word tae me in the past. He spared my life after Culloden and as fer John… his word means a great deal tae me.” As did the man himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost a week later when a small company of redcoats appeared in the courtyard of Lallybroch early one morning. The clattering of hooves and the rattling of steel roused any of the household still in their beds and brought running those bringing in the cows for milking or collecting eggs for breakfast.

Watching from behind the stone arch that led to the stables, Jamie had his pistol at the ready. He was not convinced they were not there to arrest him, so he kept out of sight until he recognised the profile of the Duke of Pardloe. Releasing a sigh of relief, he tucked his pistol back in his belt, but within easy reach just in case. His scanned the other riders but failed to find the man he most wanted to see. Emerging slowly into the morning light, Jamie’s focus was on the faces beneath the tricorn hats, and it was only when his gaze returned to the older Grey brother that he caught sight of the small boy sat astride the saddle in front of him. _William_.

A broad grin broke out across Jamie’s face as he dashed forward to take hold of William as Hal lifted him up into the air to pass to his father. As Jamie settled William to the ground, the boy instantly wrapped his arms around his legs. Despite his joy at seeing his son once more, Jamie was concerned that John was not with him. At first he could not imagine why John was not with William – and then it struck him that it would have to be dire circumstances that would prevent John from being there.

As he rested a hand on his son’s head, Jamie’s heart clenched in his chest. He ruffled William’s hair, feeling it soft between his fingers and then lifted his head to fix John’s brother with a stare that demanded total honesty.

“John? … Lord John … is he?” asked Jamie. He reached up to grasp the bridle of the white mare, partly to keep Grey from riding off and partly to have something to hang on to, should the answer confirm his worst fears.

Hal frowned and that only troubled Jamie further. The expression that Jamie saw pass across his face matched the one he had seen when he had carried John’s bleeding body into Argus House after that bloody duel. 

“A Dhia, please dinna tell me he’s …” murmured Jamie, too afraid to speak the words out loud.

Hal shook his head quickly dispelling the fear he could discern in Fraser’s eyes. Patting the neck of his horse fondly, Hal Grey hoisted a leg and dismounted, passing the reins to one of his men. He took Jamie by the arm and walked a few steps away from the soldiers he had travelled with.

“No, no – my dear brother appears to have as many lives as a cat. Sadly, he is equally careless with them. Johnny has been … quite unwell,” Hal glanced at William making it clear that he was unwilling to divulge any details in front of the boy, which was enough to let Jamie know that it had been serious. “He had recovered sufficiently yesterday to issue orders from his sickbed. He insisted that I brought William here to you without any further delay. I have also, at his bequest, sent word to Helwater that I am placing William in your care until he is fit to make the journey back to the Lake District with the boy. He said that Isobel will understand.”

“Aye – she’s a canny lass.” However, Jamie was still worried about John, knowing that it would have taken a great deal to keep him from riding to Lallybroch with his son. _Their son._

“Indeed. Geneva was always the beautiful, headstrong one of the two, even as a child. Could be quite cruel and manipulative I recall.” Hal paused to catch Jamie’s eye. “Yes, well best not speak ill of the dead. However, Isobel was always the more considerate and sensible girl. It doesn’t bear contemplation what the consequences may have been if she had not summoned me directly as soon as the boy had been taken. Mind you, I’d have been at that bloody stone circle earlier if I hadn’t been delayed in countermanding the various warrants and orders for court martial issued against my brother.”

“Aye – if ye’d no’ been there tae meet us, I imagine I would be hiding yer brother in a cave fer his own safety. Have they dropped all the charges against him?”

“Yes, eventually. I made sure that Captain Jackson realised how foolish he had been in suggesting my brother capable of treason. I also produced a letter proving I had given Johnnie permission to delay the uptake of his commission to Jamaica. Although he is asking for that to be deferred entirely.”

“Ye’ll support that?” asked Jamie, narrowing his eyes at Hal Grey. It had been John’s opinion that he would have no choice in the matter.

“Of course. I may be tough on him, but I am not a tyrant. He would have made an excellent diplomat, perhaps he still will one day in the future when he has had time to recuperate. In the meantime, he has proffered his resignation from the regiment and I have accepted it.”

Jamie was grateful and glad for John that he would not be facing another ‘exile’ as he had phrased it when they had spoken of his future.

“And the warrant for my arrest?” asked Jamie, tentatively.

“Oh, that was torn up a while ago. Isobel gave me the letter John had sent her from Edinburgh. I set about having you exonerated of all charges as soon as I read it.”

“What letter?” asked Jamie, frowning. He wondered when John had managed to write and send a letter without him noticing.

“A brief missive explaining that he had paid a visit to you unannounced and found no trace of William at either your place of trade or your residence. He added an instruction that all warrants for your arrest be immediately withdrawn.”

“He did, did he?” said Jamie, smiling to himself. _Of course he had. Always looking out for Jamie, without letting on what he was doing._

“Does Isobel ken that William is safe now? John was concerned that she would be beside herself until she heard he was rescued.”

“I sent word to the estate and I would imagine they are all much relieved. William is dearly loved by all of the Dunsanys. I hope you know.”

The odd look that Hal Grey gave Jamie made him wonder he knew the truth about William. As the man glanced from William and then back to Jamie it was apparent that he did but would not speak of it.

“Uncle Hal – can I go to see papa’s horse?” asked William.

“If –” Hal Grey deferred to Jamie.

“Aye, but dinna get in the stall with him, he’s a bit of a beast, that one,” advised Jamie, although Kaphero seemed to recognise William.

“How long will it be before John is fit tae travel?” asked Jamie, clearing his throat, anxious to find out when he would see John again. “He is still in Inverness, is he not?”

“Close by. I had him transported by carriage to the new Fort George-” Hal Grey paused as he heard what sounded like a snarl and the curl to Fraser’s lips confirmed it. “The facilities there are excellent and I made sure the garrison authorities were made aware that he had been acting on my personal orders which he could not give away under any circumstances. He is being cared for in the officers’ hospital wing.”

“Aye – as long as ye’re certain he’ll no’ be locked up in a cell by yer fellow redcoats-”

“Guard your tongue, sir. I would never have left my brother’s side if I thought for one moment that he was in any danger.”

“Aye, well, of course,” muttered Jamie, not entirely convinced.

“As for how long it will be before he is able to travel – if it were up to him, he would be in the saddle already, and here in my stead. But considering that he has been feverish for the past week-”

“Did he no’ take the wee pills he had with him?” demanded Jamie, recalling Claire’s words as she had wrapped them in a handkerchief and pressed them into John’s hand.

“Certainly not – I had those disposed of as soon as my brother asked for them!” Hal leaned in closer, so that his men could not overhear what he said next. “From what your nephew and the Frenchman told me, that bloody witch had poisoned you both once already. I’ve seen him poisoned before and I wasn’t prepared to take any chances-”

“Poisoned?” asked Jamie and then shook his head, wondering if that was one of John’s lost lives his brother had eluded to earlier.

“Mercury – damned nasty business.” Hal Grey shrugged and Jamie felt a momentary kinship with him, ever to worry about the younger man’s close brushes with death.

“Damn,” Jamie swore under his breath, understanding that John had probably taken ill with an infection without the small round pills that Claire had made them promise he would take every day. “So, maybe in the next few days, he’ll come here?”

“That was his intention. He will then take William back to Helwater – via Edinburgh I should think, so I’d be profoundly grateful if you would escort them at least that far to keep them both safe. Is that an agreeable proposition?”

“Aye. I would no’ have it any other way,” asserted Jamie, glad that he was being entrusted with the safety of John and William. “I shall go with them as far as Helwater – as long as I’ll no’ be arrested as soon as I arrive-”

“Johnny would never allow that, as you should know,” snorted Hal Grey. “He’d shoot anyone on sight who dared lay a hand on you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Although Jamie had been enjoying having his son stay with him at Lallybroch, he had missed John despite knowing that he was recovering from his wounds. He was relieved when, five days later John eventually turned up at dusk, leading a well laden packhorse at a sedate pace as he made his way through the archway and into the courtyard. The dim light made the red coat he wore less glaring, but Jamie could tell that John was in uniform. The red coat and white trousers an unwelcome reminder of how John had been dressed when he had transported Jamie across country from Ardsmuir to Helwater.

“Yer brother told me ye’d resigned yer commission. Did ye change yer mind?” asked Jamie curtly, as he took charge of the pack horse.

“It was this or travel naked,” responded John. “I am not sure which would make me more of a marked man in these parts. Hence my decision to travel late in the day. I was hoping you would have some clothes to lend me.”

“I’m surprised yer brother didna insist on an armed guard tae escort ye here-” grumbled Jamie.

“Oh, he did,” replied John, rolling his eyes heavenward. “I rode with them as far as Inverness and then discharged them of their duties with sufficient funds to buy ale for an evening.”

Wincing as he gingerly raised his leg over the saddle, John lowered himself slowly to the ground.

“Are ye still in pain?” asked Jamie with a frown.

“It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been in the saddle-”

“Aye, and I’ll bet the same since ye were no’ in bed sick.”

“When did you get to know me so well?” asked John, sighing.

Jamie just grinned and shook his head, wondering the same thing himself.

“Ye look half deid, man, are ye sure ye were fit tae travel this far?” asked Jamie, reaching out to steady John on his feet as he swayed where he stood.

“I am certain that I could not bear to be confined to quarters in a soulless behemoth of a fortress for a moment longer.”

Jamie kept hold of John as he called out to one of the stableboys to take care of the horses.

“ _Fàilte don dachaigh agam_.” Jamie looked at the walls of Broch Tuarach with pride as he was finally able to welcome John Grey to his home. “Welcome tae Lallybroch, John.”

“I am glad to be here,” John followed Jamie’s gaze in the direction of the manor house. “Is William well? I trust he has behaved himself and not proven too much of a handful. I know he can be quite - ”

“He’s been the perfect gentleman, just as ye’ve raised him tae be, no doubt,” commented Jamie. “Charming everyone he meets – my sister loves him as if her were her own bairn and as fer Old Ian, he’s verra impressed with Willie’s hunting skills. The lad’s a good shot and he caught his first salmon this morning – ye taught him tae hunt and fish well, John.”

“You give me too much credit, I suspect it’s in his blood,” replied John, smiling in return.

“Thank ye fer thinking of me,” Jamie paused to clear his throat. “I’m verra grateful to ye, arranging fer William tae stay with me and my – his - family this past week.”

“I made Hal swear to bring him directly here. Just in case…” John trailed off, but not before Jamie caught both his eye and his meaning.

It was clear that John had been afraid that if he had not recovered from the infection and Hal had already taken William back to Helwater, then Jamie might never have seen William again.

“A Dhia, John, there’s nae need to fret about what might ha’ been.” Jamie gathered John into his arms and hugged him tightly to his chest, cradling his head against his shoulder. “It’s good tae see ye again, John. I was worrit about ye – again. And I … I missed ye.”

“The sentiment is mutual. Of that I can assure you.” John spoke softly, letting his lips brush Jamie’s throat as he inhaled the comforting aroma that emanated from Jamie’s bare skin.

“Will ye be able to stay a few days? Before we have tae head south?” Jamie sounded nervous as he stood back and tilted his head. “I’d like tae show ye the land around here-” _My land._

“If it is not too much of an imposition, I would very much like to see the countryside hereabouts through your eyes.” John smiled and even though the light was failing, his own eyes shone with affection as they peered up from under the front of his tricorn hat.

“Good. Because ye dinna seem fit enough tae travel any distance just yet.” Jamie frowned as he felt the trembling in John’s limbs as he held onto his arms. “If ye stay awhile, Jenny will feed ye up, get the colour back in yer cheeks.”

It struck Jamie that John’s pale and gaunt appearance bore similarities to how he had looked in early June, when he had first arrived on Jamie’s doorstep. But, no matter how concerned he was for John’s physical health, the blissful smile that graced his face told him that although John’s body was still weakened from his ordeals, he was in good spirits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apparently William’s good word was worth a great deal where the women in Jamie’s life were concerned and Jenny’s ambivalence towards John Grey at Moy Hall had been replaced by acceptance and warmth – once she had chastised him for sneaking out over the rooftops with her brother on the morning before the solstice. Young Ian had apparently also spoken to her of John’s bravery and courage, how he had fought with the witch even though he had been wounded. The fact that John Grey had been prepared to sacrifice himself to save her brother and his son, who evidently loved his ‘papa’ dearly, was very much to his credit in her eyes. Although she was not sure what to make of her brother’s fondness for the man, she accepted that he was, indeed, a ‘good man’.

Neither Jenny, nor Ian Murray senior, raised so much as an inquisitive eyebrow when Jamie had announced that John would be sleeping with him, in his room, until fit to travel south. After all, William was sharing Young Ian’s room and Jamie’s room was one of the larger rooms in the manor house with plenty of room for two grown men.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, after awkwardly undressing with their backs to one another, the walls of the Fraser ancestral home seemed to close in around the two men. The history of the manor house that had stood through two uprisings and had been under assault from the English made John feel uncomfortable. The expanse of the bed between them also echoing a gulf he was aware of yet was afraid to mention.

On opposite sides of the bed, they slipped under the covers, dressed in simple night shirts for modesty. John lay on his side facing the wall, almost clinging to the edge of the bed.

“John? Ye can lie closer tae me if ye wish. I have bathed today,” joked Jamie, making a show of sniffing his own armpits. “And I’ve bolted the door, sae we’ll no’ be disturbed.”

Chuckling, despite his anxieties, John was still uneasy.

“I… I wasn’t sure if you would still welcome …” John faltered, his words sticking in his throat it was so dry. He sighed softly before trying again: “If you would rather I kept my distance… you know that I would respect your wishes.”

“John? What the hell are ye on about?” demanded Jamie, leaning across to shake John’s arm. He had spent every night since his arrival at Lallybroch missing John’s company, yet the man seemed reticent to share it. They had not slept together since the night of the rescue from Inverness Castle, at Moy Hall and that seemed an awfully long time ago. Then it dawned on Jamie that the last person he had slept with had been Claire, and that John had seen them together. “A Dhia, d’ye feel I wouldna want ye because of what happened with – ”

“Yes. Yes … I …” Ducking his head under the covers, John took a deep breath as he tried to put words to the raging emotions that were twisting his guts into knots. “What happened between us, it was incredibly special, and I shall remember it with fondness for the rest of my life. But, for your sake, I am willing to consign it to the past. We can leave it there and hopefully maintain our friendship. I would understand-”

“Come here, ye wee gomerel!” Jamie tugged gently on John’s arm to roll him onto his back, before pulling him over and into his arms.

Jamie had been afforded the luxury of time to analyse his feelings whilst brooding around Lallybroch waiting for news. Apparently he had not been the only one brooding and from the wistful expression on John’s face, he urgently needed to disabuse the man of his assumptions.

“I need ye tae listen to me carefully, John,” beseeched Jamie. “Stop and think, man. In all the time I’ve known ye, I never once stopped loving Claire – of that ye’re very much aware. Over the years, as my feelings fer ye grew, they never waned fer her. I’m nae fool, John, I ken what ye feel fer me, what ye’ve always felt, even though I once thought it was merely lust, I’ve realised it was more than that. But I dare say that even as ye fell in love with me, ye didna love yer Hector any the less, did ye?”

“It’s not the same –” protested John. He shut his eyes firmly, trying to contain his anger at the unfairness of the situation. _Your wife is still alive but Hector is dead. You could have stayed with her and I could never have stayed with him, even if he had lived_. But Claire Fraser had entrusted her husband’s well-being to him, acknowledging the love they did not mention. Then it occurred to him where there were similarities. Sighing softly, he was able to come to terms with what Jamie was saying. “But I think I know what you mean. Neither would begrudge us finding comfort with one another.”

“Nae, they would not,” agreed Jamie. He had seen Claire’s face as she had taken the forget-me-nots from John and given him her blessing. “I think tae truly love someone means wanting what’s best fer them, even if that means letting them go. I shall love Claire until the day I die. But that doesna mean I canna love ye too, _mo chridhe_.”

As Jamie held John in his arms he looked up at the old oak beams, hewn from trees at the turn of the century and thought of the nights he had spent in that very room, looking up at the ceiling as Claire sat astride him, her head thrown back in ecstasy. _Claire_. Always so perceptive. She had sensed an intimacy between him and John, had overheard exactly what he meant to John, and yet she had cared for John; he was after all a difficult man not to like. Meanwhile, their anger, exploding in a ferocious row, had not been about John, but had erupted over the ghosts of two men, identical in appearance, both by the name of Randall. _Was he ever to be rid of the demons let loose by that bastard?_

Sighing to himself, he felt John’s hand rest on the flesh exposed as his night shirt had rucked upwards. Jamie felt his heart beat faster as he realised that he had fought those demons and won. A battle if not the war itself. Regardless, he was finally able to accept loyalty, companionship and love from John Grey despite what Randall had done to him in the past. Having been to the future and briefly reunited with Claire had allowed him to discover that his heart had the capacity for more than one lover.

Unable to lie to one another, they had been brutally honest. Claire had explained why she could not return with Jamie and he had told her that he could not stay with her, not in a time to which he did not belong. It had broken their hearts, but if either of them had not been truthful, the eventual harm would have been so much greater.

The reflections of candles flickering in the warped mirror on the wall reminded him of how he had slowly made love to Claire on sheepskin rugs in the candlelit cottage. That night they had renewed the bond of love that could not be broken by distance or time.

As Jamie caressed John’s back, unknowingly repeating the same patterns he had traced across Claire’s shoulder blades, he concluded that theirs was a bond not weakened by the presence of another, but supported and strengthened, just as another cord entwined in a rope only makes it stronger.

Cupping John’s chin in the fingers of one hand, he tilted his lover’s face upwards and leant down to kiss him. As their lips met he took advantage of the involuntary gasp of surprise to plunder John’s mouth with his tongue, noting that he was more than receptive to his advances.

Lifting John’s night shirt upwards, the callouses on his fingers dragged across the latest of scars, causing an involuntary shudder.

Breaking free of Jamie’s mouth to take in a much-needed gulp of air, John swallowed hard and then bit his lip.

“Did I hurt ye?” asked Jamie, ready to apologise.

“Not yet,” murmured John as he gazed into Jamie’s eyes. “I beg of you, do not do this just because it is what you think I want. You owe me nothing. I meant what I said –”

“Hush there,” Jamie held a finger to John’s full lips. “I’m nae doing anything I dinna want, desire or need tae do, John. And ye… ye are all three tae me – ye are what I want, desire and need.”

Running his hands over John’s lean frame, feeling the firm muscle flexing as John sought to wrap his limbs around his own, Jamie manoeuvred them around so that John lay on his front. Kissing a line from the nape of his neck to the dip at the base of his spine, Jamie sensed John relaxing into the soft mattress.

Smiling to himself, Jamie fetched the small flagon of sweet almond oil he had sneaked out of the kitchen earlier. He massaged every inch of skin he could reach with the scented oil, feeling it soften and warm under the palms of his hands. Rubbing it gently onto the scar tissue to soothe the sore looking skin, he rolled John onto his front once more to trickle some of the oil into the crease between his buttocks, letting it coat his fingers as he carefully slid them inside, preparing John slowly until he knew he could enter him with the minimum of discomfort.

Leisurely, they made love, with Jamie lying to the side of John, holding him close from behind, pulling him onto his cock and into the shelter of his arms. Reaching underneath, to grasp John’s own erection, he heard the muffled grunt as John buried his head into the pillow.

“The walls are thick and so are the doors – ” whispered Jamie as he thrust in time with the slide of his hand up and down John’s shaft. John’s moans and sighs of pleasure matched his own as they took pleasure in each other’s bodies. Crying with joy, John came hard in Jamie’s hand, followed not long after by Jamie’s gasps of elation as he released his seed deep inside the man he loved.

Afterwards, as they curled up, limbs entwined and sweat cooling their naked bodies, they relaxed. Both had been afraid that Jamie’s night with Claire could have rung the death knoll on their physical relationship, but it had served only to add another element to their love making. From giving each other a helping hand one morning at an inn in Stirling, they were now expressing their devotion to each other under the roof of Jamie’s ancestors, without guilt. It did not feel shameful or wrong. It felt good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John had been delighted to be reunited with his stallion Kaphero and before they headed south, he and Jamie had taken rides into the surrounding countryside enjoying each other’s company and the wind in their hair, unencumbered by worry for their son. William was happy in the company of Ian and Fergus, both of whom loved him like a little brother. As promised, Jenny had fed them well, making good use of the trout that William was proud of catching. The sunny days at Lallybroch fled by too fast and before long they were packing to leave. Jenny made John promise to return and to bring William with him and warned her brother to watch over her own son.

The journey south to Edinburgh, and then to Helwater, was by necessity devoid of anything overtly intimate, especially as Ian and Fergus had accompanied them as far as Edinburgh. However, each night they lay with one another, in inns or in their own tent. They were retracing their own steps, via Crieff and Stirling – but this time with lighter hearts.

Once in Edinburgh, while Jamie was busy giving Fergus and Ian instructions on what to do and what not do in the printshop, and with regard to the outstanding orders and deliveries of various barrels of spirit, John had excused himself, saying there was some business he had to attend to in the city. At the time, Jamie had thought it was to do with visiting his distant relative at the castle and said no more, but there had been a twinkle in John’s eye that hinted at something secretive. Also, Jamie was sure that he had spied a scrap of paper in John’s belongings with the familiar handwriting of his sister. Thinking it to be a private message, possibly a threat should he do him wrong, Jamie had shrugged it off.

When they arrived at Helwater, weary from travel and wet through from late summer storms, Jamie had been taken aback to find himself offered a room in the main house. He had half thought he would be directed to his old room above the stable yet was given a room on the same floor as John’s. Watching John embrace his wife and go to their room that first night had hurt even though he knew that John had no choice in the matter. But during the night, John had slipped into his room and held him tight as they slept in each other’s arms. He had said that Isobel knew and was happy for him.

The following morning, John had promised that he would make things right. He had placed the miniature portrait of William into Jamie’s hand and sworn that he would bring his son to him in the spring. In exchange, Jamie had given John the dirk with the carved handle that he had kept hold of since the events of the solstice. He had told John to keep it by him always and to keep safe for his sake and for William’s.

As Isobel, John and William waved Jamie off, he hugged all three of them, with promises to keep in touch. Isobel had whispered in his ear that she would take care of both of them for him. She had then shared a smile with John, as if there was a secret they shared. Clasping John to his chest, he heard him whisper – ‘ _it will all be well come the spring, trust me’._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From late summer, throughout the autumn of 1766 and into the winter months, they exchanged written correspondence on a regular basis. Each time that John wrote, he reiterated that he would see Jamie in the spring.

One day, in early autumn, a small parcel arrived for Jamie, hand delivered from a jewellery shop on the High Street. As he unwrapped it, curious as to the contents, a small velvet pouch fell out. Inside was a brooch, with polished crystals of Cairngorm stone. A thistle wrapped around a sword.

The note inside, written in John’s hand, simply stated: _In memory of a night in the mountains_.

Jamie instinctively knew that the sharply polished crystals were from the stone that John had picked up in the Cairngorms. He smiled to himself, thinking he had solved the mystery of John’s ‘business’ in Edinburgh’ that day in July.

But then, in November, as the cold winds brought miserable weather and the nights were drawing in, he was surprised to have Ned Gowan pay him an unexpected visit.

Over a bottle of whisky, Ned had set out a sheaf of papers for Jamie’s signature. Frowning to himself, Jamie had read through the documents, seeing the scrawl of Laoghaire at the bottom of each page. Demanding to know what was going on, Ned had explained that a gentleman had paid a visit to explain that Jamie’s first wife was still alive and had signed a statement testifying that he had seen her for himself. That had made his marriage to Laoghaire invalid and, with a sum of money left on Jamie’s behalf by that gentleman, Ned had managed to procure an annulment. Jamie had been freed of all legal obligations to maintain either his estranged wife or to provide dowries for her daughters. When he asked for a description of the ‘gentleman’, Ned had merely said he was a handsome fellow, and had a young child with him.

Jamie had raised his glass and toasted his benefactor, while silently thanking John Grey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thankful for the better light, with the days getting longer, Jamie was buy in the printshop, focusing on setting one last fiddly block in place. As he tapped it in tightly, he thought he heard the tinkling of the shop bell. Mistaking it for a ringing in his ears, he continued, only to hear the bell once more.

“Ian – stop messing about wi’ the bell will ye?” Jamie yelled, tiring of the pranks his nephew played.

A soft, deep chuckle alerted him to the fact that it was not Ian. He spun round and almost fainted on the spot to see John Grey stood exactly where he had almost a year beforehand. His long woollen cloak pooled about his boots and the tricorn hat was tilted forward over his eyes, yet this time a smile graced his face.

“John!”

“Jamie.”

“It’s good tae see ye, John. Are ye staying long?” asked Jamie, frowning as he had received no notice of John’s visit. He took his spectacles off and tucked them into his waistcoat.

“That depends,” said John insouciantly, as he ran a finger along a shelf and walked towards Jamie. “I intend to stay as long as I am welcome. Either that or as long as it takes to sell the house I’ve purchased - ”

“House?”

“Ah, you have me there.” John tried and failed to keep the smile from his face. “Houses, plural. I have purchased and partly furnished two properties, adjacent to one another on a plot in the new town. With views over the Firth of Forth.”

“Are ye mad?” exclaimed Jamie, staring at John as if he had grown two heads.

“I was hoping that you could recommend to me a suitable tenant. Perhaps a local businessman?” John paused to smile. “The rent would be very reasonable.”

“John, are ye serious, man?” Jamie wiped his hands clean of ink on a rag and threw it to one side.

“I have never been so serious in my entire life.” John took off his hat and set it on the counter top, before unfastening his cloak to hang it up on the coat rack, next to Jamie’s. He was dressed in a particularly fine blue suit – similar to the one Lady Anne had provided.

“So, ye’ve invested in the Baile Ùr Dhùn Èideann development?” Jamie was very much aware of the plans for the new development and had indeed printed out pamphlets advertising plots of land for sale.

“Yes, specifically Thistle Court on Thistle Street,” replied John, a gleam in his eye as he caught sight of the brooch he had sent to Jamie pinned to his waistcoat. “I rather hoped you would approve of the location-”

“Ye’re a romantic wee soul are ye no’?” teased Jamie, a smile on his lips.

“So Tom Byrd told me when he packed the books from my private collection, although he phrased it differently. Fortunately, he cannot understand French.”

“Ye’ve packed – everything?” Jamie was almost certain that John’s private collection resided in London and not in his apartment at Helwater. “What does your brother make of this?”

“He is of the opinion that I am less of a danger to myself here in Scotland than in London and only asks that I visit him and the family once a year, to prove that I am still alive.”

“I’ll say it again, John, ye’re mad,” repeated Jamie, shaking his head as he tried to take it all in.

“I once swore to you that I would move heaven and earth to be with you and with William,” said John, reminding Jamie of his pledge. “In the morning we shall be taking residence in our house. Tom has been busy this past week organising the household. He is to be our butler and also household manager for both properties.”

“And Isobel?” enquired Jamie.

“She is very much looking forward to the genteel life of a lady in a city. She had been dreading the idea of being a governor’s wife in Jamaica, suffering as she does from both sea travel and excess heat. Although, naturally, she will make the occasional trip back to Helwater to visit her parents.” John smiled fondly as he thought of Isobel’s delight in having her own home to run. “She’s already planning all manner of soirées and salons. She also understands that her husband may spend nights playing chess and drinking fine wine at the neighbour’s house… if that neighbour were so inclined.”

“And how do ye intend to explain my association with yer family?” asked Jamie. “Beyond that of ‘neighbour’?”

“Ah, what you really mean to ask, is how will you be able to be father to your son in a way that society will accept without question?” John did not shy from putting into words Jamie’s real concerns.

“Aye,” grunted Jamie. He had been uncomfortable with the idea of being a ‘kept man’ when Claire had suggested it and it appeared to be what John was also proposing.

John composed himself and then looked Jamie directly in the eye.

“William told me you baptised him as a ‘stinking papist’ – his words, not mine.” John bit his lip as he saw the scowl growing on Jamie’s face. He placed a hand on Jamie’s chest, over his heart to signify the sincerity of his words. “And you gave him your name. I thought that perhaps, if we were to have that formalised and you were to officially be made William’s godfather – ”

John stopped as he saw Jamie’s mouth fall open and his eyes well up with tears.

“A Dhia – that’s more than I could ever have hoped for.”

The significance of the gesture was not lost on Jamie, especially as he knew that John had been aware of his own close relationship with his godfather, Murtagh.

“Perhaps a small ceremony at Lallybroch?” ventured John. “I know how much it would mean to your sister. I have written to her and have her approval. She tells me she knows of a priest she can persuade to officiate. What do you say, Jamie?”

John looked nervous. He was drawing his lower lip between his teeth again and looked as if he were holding his breath.

Jamie was speechless. Shaking his head, he launched himself at John, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing the man so hard he thought could feel the air driven from his lungs in a gasp before releasing him slightly and then pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Ye were always better at the long game in chess – planning several moves ahead. How long have ye been planning this?”

“Since last summer,” admitted John. “I overheard some of the injured officers in Fort George speaking of investing in properties in Edinburgh and of the plans for the new streets and houses being built. I had asked your sister if she could recommend to me a trustworthy law firm and she gave me the name of Mister Gowan. She said he dealt with family business and had been unsuccessfully trying to negotiate an annulment of your marriage to Mistress MacKimmie –”

“Ye sneaky wee bastard!”

“Can you forgive me for the subterfuge?”

“Ye’re making an assumption that I’d say yes, aren’t ye?”

“If you are unwilling, I shall still make the houses available to you and your family and promise to bring William here to stay with you regularly throughout the year-”

John did not get to complete his sentence as Jamie grabbed him by the arms and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

“What about his inheritance?” muttered Jamie. “Surely he would lose all of that if made a Catholic? What about Ellesmere?”

“Isobel and I have discussed the matter. We believe that the earldom should not be a burden upon William in the future. As my adopted son and ward, and also as heir to Helwater he will already have both titles and lands bestowed upon him,” explained John. “The Dunsanys were in agreement that any connection between their family and that of the deceased Earl be severed. Your son has no need to take the title of a man who would have killed him as a babe if it were not for your actions.”

“John?” Jamie had grown pale as it seemed that the Dunsanys had discussed a great deal concerning William’s past as well as his future.

“Since my return to Helwater, Isobel has told me everything that happened the night William was born. I lived many years dreading my birthday, believing that my father took his life the following day because of something I had done.” John felt in his pocket for the watch, that last gift from his father, returned to him by Young Ian who had picked it up from the ground at Craig na Dun. “I shall not have William suffer the same fate. We have talked to him. He understands what we are suggesting and is thrilled at the prospect of you being his papist father.”

“So, where is my son then?” replied Jamie, a wide smile on his face.

“He and Isobel are lodging at the White Horse Inn this evening. However, I was hoping that perhaps you would be willing to put up a guest in your room for the night?”

“Aye, I would like that verra much indeed.” The smile stretched into a broad grin as Jamie pulled John back into his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**March 31 1768**

Sitting by the fire, sipping whisky as he surveyed the chess game that had been unceremoniously abandoned the previous night, John looked at his pocket watch once more. He tutted to himself. Jamie had promised he would be home in time for them to complete the game before retiring to bed for the night; whether it was his bed or Jamie's did not matter too much as the connecting door that Jamie had installed between their respective bedrooms allowed them to go to bed in one house and go down to breakfast in the other with nobody outside their households being any the wiser. 

A slamming of doors and muttered Scottish oaths set John’s mind at rest. Jamie entered the room in a rush, shaking raindrops from his hair as he shed his cloak and planted himself on the settee next to John. After greeting his lover with a hug and a kiss, Jamie proudly placed a package in his lap. A heavy bundle wrapped in brown paper and string.

“What is this?” asked John, catching the glint of mischief in Jamie’s eyes. “Not another salacious French novel I shall have to hide from Tom?”

“Nae – I think ye’ve got more than enough of those.”

Jamie waited until John had tugged on the string to release the book within.

“There ye go, the first printing of ‘The Adventures of Captain William Grey – a story book for children’ by Bertram Armstrong.”

“Oh… but this is wonderful. It’s perfect!” exclaimed John, his cheeks flushing pink. “I hope that William enjoys it as much as he does the Prince Caspian book.”

“Let’s drink to yer success as an author of books fer children.” Jamie poured himself a glass of whisky and raised it, but before he could say another word, he was interrupted by an urgent hammering at the door to the sitting room.

“Come in!” yelled Jamie, wondering whether it was Ian or Fergus. They both lived with him in his house on Thistle Street, but they knew, from experience, to always knock before entering any room with a closed door.

Ian burst in, dripping wet and out of breath.

“What is it, Ian? There’s no’ trouble is there?” Jamie had leapt to his feet, still dreading the visits of customs men, even after John had persuaded him to trade in spirits legally and avoid unnecessary scrutiny by those who would do him harm. 

“Nae… no’ trouble, although …” Ian paused to catch his breath. “There’s a young lady asking fer ye at the printshop. She didna ask fer Mister Malcolm, mind, she asked fer Jamie Fraser.”

Jamie grabbed hold of John’s hand before speaking. He looked as though he was ready to pass out.

“What did she look like? Was she an Englishwoman? Verra pretty with long dark hair?”

“She didna sound English tae me, nor Scots. She was verra pretty though, and tall. Aye, and her hair, was long and wavy, all the way down her back - the colour of a red deer’s pelt. Oh yes, she asked me tae give ye this.” Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of red leather stitched with gold thread, upon which hung a bright blue stone. He shook his head at Jamie who held out his hand, passing it instead to John. “She said I was tae return this tae Lord John with the compliments of her mother.”

John’s heart was racing – it was the sapphire he had left behind at the cottage in exchange for the copy of Prince Caspian he had ‘borrowed’. 

“Well this is going to be interesting,” murmured John, clasping the gem in his hand.

“Aye, well – there’s always room for one more in my heart, as ye ken by now,” responded Jamie grinning from ear to ear. Grabbing John around the waist, he kissed him again and again, ignoring Ian’s protestations.

Breaking apart briefly, Jamie smiled fondly at his partner, recalling the night when John made an unannounced visit to the printshop in the middle of the night. Their lives had been turned upside down in the following weeks, but he could not imagine how his life would have turned out if he had not followed John on the quest to rescue their son.

**_The End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do comment if you have read and enjoyed this story, it would mean a lot to me. No need for an essay, just a word or two would make me happy.


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